


Through All Kinds of Weather

by Marks



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan gets sick and pushes himself too hard. Enter Spencer and his world of denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some description of flu-type symptoms and sickness, though I'm so squeamish that I doubt anyone will be bothered by it. This fic is entirely set in post-Panic split canon. Written for bandom_hc prompt 135, Ryan gets pneumonia and Spencer nurses him back to health and they cuddle a lot. I would be fine with them being just BFFs or BFFs who are also boyfriends. Any time period/setting/universe is fine. Please forgive me for any indulgences but I figured if any fest asked for it, it was this one. Betaed by stealstheashes, who also works as my part-time therapist. You can't have her because she's mine. Comments always welcome.

There's a guy yelling in Ryan's ear. He's either telling him "GOOD SHOW TONIGHT" or "FOOD DOESN'T FIGHT" and for Ryan's sake he hopes it's the former because he replies with a crooked smile and the universal fingerguns of 'Hey, thanks, man.'

Ryan escapes from the food-fighting drunk guy to go get another drink for himself. He's at a party in Oklahoma, some friend of Alex's, he thinks, just a place where they could crash mid-tour as long as they didn't mind being guests of honor at an afterparty. And Ryan -- well, Ryan's usually all about the afterparty but he's in a mood, the thing Spencer used to call a diva funk back when Ryan still wore diva like a badge of defensive honor. Right now, though, he's just really tired, tour and travel taking its toll, and nowhere near drunk enough to deal with wall-to-wall people pretending to be his friend.

"This sucks," Jon says, appearing at Ryan's side. Ryan nods along with beat of the music, some indie-hipster-techno remix which is probably something Ryan should find ironic. He doesn't, but he might pretend he does later, depending on who asks. "Do you want a beer?" Jon asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "Something harder than that."

Jon nods. "I can do that."

They end up outside with Solo cups filled with straight whiskey, which is both ridiculous and not Ryan's drink of choice, but it'll definitely get him there faster than wine or anything that's usually served with a little umbrella.

"No vodka that I could find," Jon says apologetically. Ryan thinks there might be some vodka in the van, but he shrugs and drinks anyway because this is free. It's chilly out, enough to make a shiver zip up his spine, but he likes it better out here. He finds it funny that their show was the excuse for the party and no one will miss them now that they're gone. He feels that way about a lot of things these days. Half the cup is gone when Ryan's legs go wobbly and he has to sit down on some steps.

Jon joins him a minute later. "How long till anyone realizes we're not in there?" he asks, echoing Ryan's thoughts.

"Depends on how fucked up Alex is," Ryan replies and they both laugh. "It really was a good show tonight, right?" His head is spinning a little and it seems easy enough to rest it on Jon's shoulder. Jon has good shoulders, all warm and enough support for a head.

"Yeah, you done good," Jon assures him, reaching over to steal Ryan's plastic cup and draining it.

"Hey," Ryan protests weakly.

"Shut up, lightweight."

"I'm not," Ryan says. "I've just got a delicate system."

Jon's still laughing when the screen door bangs open and Alex hangs out, wild-eyed, and says, "Holy shit, you guys, where the hell have you been? Save me. I'm way too fucked up to talk about Derrida."

"You need new friends," Jon observes wisely.

"What do you think you two are?" Alex replies, and then it's Ryan's turn to laugh, complete with an obnoxious coughing fit. "Yo, you okay?" Alex asks. He offers Ryan a hand up, which Ryan takes. He carefully brushes the dirt off his corduroy slacks and nods.

"Okay enough, unless you've got a set of new condition lungs lying around somewhere."

"Lungs, lungs, lungs," Jon sings drunkenly, swaying as he struggles to stand. "All you need is lungs... Lungs is all you need."

"I'm tweeting that shit," Alex and Ryan say in unison as they reach for their phones.

+

Ryan wakes up on a deflated air mattress, groaning as someone shakes his shoulder urgently. His head feels like it grew three sizes overnight, his chest is sore, and his skin feels too tight for his bones. Plus, he really has to piss and he doesn't remember doing anything so fun the night before that would justify all this pain.

"Fuck, what, _what_?" he asks, blindly batting at whoever it is. He weakly connects with Jon's beard and cracks open one eye. "I hate you," he says with great conviction.

"Good morning, starshine," Jon says cheerily. He's got his arm stretched out and he's holding a mug away from Ryan, so not only has Jon woken him up, but he also has coffee. Jon beams down at him. "The earth says hello!" Ryan has never hated Jon so much in his entire life.

Ryan struggles to prop himself onto his elbows. "I think I died overnight." He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and yawns big enough that his jaw cracks.

"Casper's breath smells like something died," Jon says, wrinkling his nose. Ryan feels triumphant for fucking up his good mood. "Go brush your teeth, so we can get out of this hellhole. I'm getting waffles if it kills you."

Standing seems to take more effort than Ryan's used to, which he chalks up to the whiskey and vows to stick to drinks he actually enjoys from this point on. In the bathroom, his face looks more haggard than he remembers it being before.

"Tour is war," he mutters to himself as he shuffles over to the toilet to pee. He flushes, washes his face, and paws through some stranger's cabinets until he finds Listerine. Ryan fucking hates medicinal mouthwash, but beggars can't be choosers and he considers it karmic punishment for drinking too much. Well, further karmic punishment, considering the death hangover. Ryan finds some Tylenol and takes that, too, cupping water into his palms to drink.

When Ryan comes back out, Alex and Eric have joined Jon, and they look equally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Ryan hates everyone, and twice as much when he goes into a coughing fit.

"Whoa," Eric says. "You okay, buddy?"

Ryan nods. "My immune system's just shitty, nothing new. I'll be fine."

"I bet Waffle House has a pancakes and lymph node special," Alex says, picking up Ryan's bag along with his own and completely ignoring Ryan's efforts to grab it back.

"Okay enough for the show tonight?" Jon asks as they head out to the van.

"It's nothing," Ryan says, rolling his eyes. "Just a cold."

+

_Brendon and I are busy churning out the hits you want to listen to. We only have a few more days in the studio, and the faster we finish the faster we can get our new album out to you. I can't wait for that and hope you can't either. Check back soon for updates._

_Sooner, not later,  
Spencer_

"Yeah, I usually rub my nipples when I'm on the internet, too," Alex says, coming up from behind.

Instinctually, Ryan slams his laptop closed on Spencer's post, and Alex laughs. Asshole. Ryan's other hand still guiltily rests in the middle of his chest. "I'm congested," Ryan informs him. "My chest hurts and I was rubbing it, not doing some creepy masturbation thing. Or did you miss all the coughing I've been doing? I know you're not that bright."

Alex flops down into the folding chair next to him. "This is the thanks I get for taking your driving shift last night so you could snuffle in your sleep for an extra six hours?"

"Guilt tripper," Ryan sighs. He really had appreciated the extra rest, not that it helped that much. His chest cold was spiraling into the most annoying sickness in the world, and even the drugstore stop off for Thera-Flu and cough syrup wasn't doing much to make his head or heart feel better, and now he thinks he might be getting a fever, too. "I'm always the first one to get a tour cold."

"He is," Jon agrees as he comes into the dressing room. "And sometimes once we all get it, he gets it again."

Ryan nods. "I'm a lucky guy."

"Of course, he's never gotten one when he's had to do the majority of the singing," Jon continues, and now he's got his arms crossed over his chest and he's shifted his weight over to one leg so his hip sticks out. It reminds Ryan of Spencer a bit, even though Jon stands like that a lot. It's probably the stance in combination with the faintly disapproving tone, but that's not that fair to Spencer. Ryan feels a bit guilty for thinking it. "You gonna be okay tonight?" asks Jon.

"I'm fine," Ryan assures him. "It's seriously not that bad, just some chest thing." And a little bit of dizziness, and sore muscles, and yeah, that maybe-fever, too. Ryan doesn't mention any of that, though. "You can sing lead more maybe, but my voice is okay. Not like anyone will notice the difference if I miss a couple of notes anyway."

"Shut the fuck up," Jon says fondly, coming up to flick Ryan's ear. Alex rolls his eyes and gets up, stealing Ryan's computer right off his lap before leaving.

"Hey," Ryan complains weakly. He doesn't even have the energy to try and grab it back. "Fucker, I was reading something," he says to Alex's back. Jon laughs and sits down in Alex's now-unoccupied seat.

"There's a Chinese place across the street. Do you want me to run out and get you something?" Jon asks. "I know egg drop isn't exactly Mom's homemade chicken noodle but it still might be good."

Ryan smiles a little. "Yeah, thanks. Mom isn't really into homemade soup anyway. Not that I know of, at least."

"I hear you," Jon says, deflecting. "My mom set the smoke alarm off making Hot Pockets once."

"Oh hey," Ryan says, widening his eyes, "me too."

+

_**thisisryanross** Sick again but egg drop soup aka chicken noodle ala @iamjonwalker is a coldkiller I feel it. Are you ready for us Phoenix?_

+

"Hey guys," Jon says, speaking right into the microphone. A squeal of feedback makes him lean back. "How's everyone feeling tonight?" His eyes cut to the right; Ryan shrugs back and the crowd cheers in answer. "Awesome." Jon grins, fiddling with the neck of his bass. "I know you all know my good friend, Ryan Ross, don't you?" The crowd cheers again.

"Who's that?" Ryan says into his microphone.

"Just some guy I follow on Twitter," Jon says. Everyone laughs, Ryan included, and he has to gulp from his bottled water to stop a coughing fit before it starts. "Anyway, I doubt anyone else here follows him --" More laughter. "-- so in case you didn't know already, he's feeling a little under the weather tonight."

Someone shouts, "We love you, Ryan!" and Ryan waves.

"He promised me that he's okay, but for tonight you're just going to get a little more of me singing than usual. Try not to be too disappointed."

Ryan leans in to his microphone. "We love you, Jon," he says solemnly.

Jon rolls his eyes when the audience catcalls their appreciation. "Ready?" he asks, twisting around to make sure everyone backing them is on the same page. "And a-one and a-two..."

+

"What's the verdict?" Jon asks when they stumble offstage an hour later.

The verdict is Ryan feels like shit. The back of his dress shirt is sweat-stuck to his skin, and the only reason it's not completely obvious is because of the jacket he's wearing. His stomach is churning and his cold meds are starting to wear off, even though he took them right before they started playing. If he curled up in a corner, he'd definitely fall asleep and he doesn't know when he'd wake up again.

"Feelin' fine," Ryan says. "It was a good show."

+

Even though he feels like he's going to pass out, Ryan still helps pack up the van. It's different from the old days in Panic, where he and Spencer would just let Brendon do all the heavy lifting. Brendon was way more eager to please back then, and Ryan way less. If Ryan felt more like himself, he'd probably be turning that thought over in his head a little more, maybe even denying it, but getting one end of an amp when Jon has the other kind of kills any plausible deniability he might have had.

"Hotel night," Alex says. "Well, economy motor lodge night. Same thing!"

Ryan wrinkles up his forehead. He doesn't remember tonight being a hotel night. They have the day off tomorrow, true, but they agreed to sleep in the van or on someone's floor whenever possible and to only have hotel nights when they couldn't stand being around each other anymore.

"I know what you're thinking, Ross," Alex continues. "But yes, tonight is a hotel night. The rest of us got together and decided that tonight _somebody_ has to be in quarantine just so we all won't come down with your death cold."

"You probably have it already," Ryan says.

Alex sighs. "Yeah, well, everyone else thought that, too. Damn you and your adorable drooly ways. I just can't resist it when you slobber all over my shoulder in your sleep."

"Hey."

"No, seriously, I have the DNA evidence. My t-shirts could go into the Smithsonian." Alex pauses, considering. "The Rossonian? Whatever. Anyway, I'm on baby-sitting duty, baby. Fluicide Watch."

Ryan's shoulders droop. He might have fought this on another night, but he's really too tired for that now. "I want a shower," he says.

"Tell you what, my friend," Alex says, slinging his arm around Ryan's shoulders. "I'll let you have _my_ shower, too. Two showers, all for you! How's that sound?"

"Sounds like you're disgusting."

"That's the spirit."

+

Ryan falls asleep in the van on the way to the motel. The band lets him sleep through check-in and apparently even getting some of their stuff inside, if Alex shouting "Hey, there's one last bag in here!" and shoving him to wake him up is anything to go by.

"Fuck you," Ryan mumbles. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and yawns big enough that his jaw cracks.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Alex says. "Room's ready."

Ryan nods and tries to detangle himself from a heap of blankets that are covering him -- "You were, like, shaking in your sleep so we turned you into a laundry pile," Alex says -- and shuffles toward the door. He inhales the night air and immediately slaps his hand over his mouth as he starts coughing wetly. Alex shoots him a considering glance.

"Whatever you're about to say." Ryan's voice sounds thick and raw. He clears his throat. "Whatever you're about to say, save it. I'll get a shower, I'll drink some water, and I'll sleep in a real bed. Tomorrow I'll be fine."

Alex puts his hands up in defense. "I wasn't going to say anything. You know, except that Jon makes a pretty crappy doctor so if you want to go to the emergency room or something, you have to let us know."

Ryan shakes his head. "I'm not going to a hospital. It's just a cold, man. Why is everyone acting like I'm about to die?"

"I don't know," says Alex. "You want to tell me why a half-hour drive from a venue gives you the sweats and then the chills, and why you didn't bother mentioning to anyone that you've got a fever? I could practically see heat waves coming off you back there." He stabs viciously at the elevator button. Ryan feels his forehead to see if it's hot and his fingers come back covered in sweat. "Your phone was ringing while you were comatose," Alex tells him.

They get on the elevator while Ryan checks his messages. Z's sent him two texts (The first says _holistic medicine_ , the second _is complete bullshit_ ) and called once. He'll call her back later, or tomorrow, or whenever. They're used to each other's flightiness by now so she probably won't mind.

Alex still seems like he's pissed and trying not to show it when they get to the room. He jokes about being a lousy baby-sitter and says he's going off to drink all the alcohol in the other room, one short, "Don't let me find you rubbing your nipples again when I get back," thrown over his shoulder as he leaves.

Ryan frowns at the shut door. He's not really sure how to deal with Alex being mad at him. Yeah, he's used to people being mad at him, but not Alex in particular. It just never happens. It's weird for him to worry. Ryan's not sure if it's a good look on him.

He turns and looks at the beds, considering his options. If he flopped onto a bed right now, he'd probably fall asleep again instantly, but the shower option is a good one. The steam might be nice. On the other hand, standing. Ryan stares at the room's peeling brown wallpaper and a mounted painting of a sailboat on a choppy sea, figuring the tiny paint sailors probably had to wait weeks in between baths. He should take opportunities when they're given to them.

The bathroom is tiny, of course, and the water takes forever to heat up, so Ryan digs through his bags for cough syrup and chugs it while he waits, chasing that with pain killers. Once the water's hot, though, the shower's a godsend, better than any five-star hotel's. It doesn't matter that there's rust around the faucet and a suspiciously dark ring around the tub because the water melts the ache from his sore muscles and the steam helps him breathe in a way he hasn't in two days. Yeah, he has to lean against a mildew-covered tile wall just to stay upright and yeah, he doesn't really have the energy needed to shampoo his hair, even though it needs it, but he feels halfway human again and that goes a long way. He'll just take another shower in the morning.

Ryan wraps a towel around his waist and gets his laptop out before lying down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting dressed. Fuck Alex's warnings -- he can deal with a little indecency considering how much he dishes out. The throbbing in Ryan's head has subsided a little and he takes the minute's head peace to thank the internet gods for free crappy hotel wireless so he can check his email and a couple of other places. Spencer and Brendon are right on top of his Twitter feed; they've finished another song -- _Twelve down, last one on its way! Thanks for the support everyone_ , says Brendon. Spencer's update is just a picture that he took of himself with his cameraphone, a big grin stretched across his face. He looks really happy and Ryan finds himself smiling back before he even realizes he's doing it. He considers offering his congratulations, but ends up just letting the world know that his brain is burning up and his muscles want to be outside of his skin instead of in, his fourth straight update about how sick he is. It could be that he just doesn't want to deal with the fan reaction if he replies, and that's what he tells himself it is, but he always knows when he's lying to himself. But he's so good at it and it's hard kicking habits once they become... habitual.

Across the room, Ryan's phone rings inside his jacket and he makes a semi-awkward roll off the bed, trying to get to it in time. He makes it, but answers coughing with a towel around his ankles.

"Well, hello to you, too," says Z on the other end.

"Hold on, I'm naked."

"Well, _hello_ ," Z says again. Ryan ignores her and grabs a pair of sweatpants out of his bag. They're too short for him, so they might be Jon's or they might have shrunk in the wash, but they passed the sniff test, which is good enough.

"Okay, decent."

Z snorts. "Like you ever are."

"Like loves like."

"Just for the record, that wasn't clever the first ten times you said it to me."

Ryan smiles and climbs into bed, pulling the covers up to his neck one-handed and balancing the phone next to his ear with the other. "Did you call just to antagonize me? Because I don't know if you know this, but I'm kind of ill."

"Ryan, I know. Everyone knows. People on the moon probably know, you big baby. How the hell does anyone there put up with you?"

"They don't," Ryan tells her. He stretches to all corners of the bed and cracks his back, taking a slow inhale and exhale. "They've quarantined me with Greenwald."

"Holy shit!" she exclaims. Ryan can picture her wide-eyed on the other end. "They really hate you."

"Yep, Alex included. He left."

"Oh?" Now Ryan can hear the concern creeping into _Z's_ voice and this is all too much for him. He's not used to all of this worrying over him, at least not lately. He doesn't know how he feels about it. "No offense, Ross, but that doesn't really sound like him. I can barely pry you two apart with a crowbar some days."

Ryan shrugs, even though she can't see it. "I don't know. I think I'm hard to be around when I'm sick."

"Is it the flu again?"

"Yeah, I think, I don't know," Ryan says. "I haven't been to a doctor or anything but I've been coughing a lot, like every time my cold meds wear off. My joints ache and it hurts to breathe sometimes. A lot. Think I've got a fever now, too." Somehow it feels safer to tell Z his list of ailments, since she's across the country.

"You take such shit care of yourself," Z says.

"Well, you know, tour."

"Screw that. Don't be all Mr. Martyr Musician. One of your days off, go get checked out somewhere. Nothing emergency rooms like more than wandering minstrels who haven't showered in a week."

"I just showered," Ryan informs her.

Z laughs. "Then I guess they'll like you more."

"I'll see how I feel in the morning, okay?"

"Yeah, good enough. You know where I am."

Ryan doesn't actually -- he thinks she's on the east coast somewhere now, maybe Atlanta or something -- but that's not really the point. It's the sentiment of the thing and he feels better now even though she hasn't really done anything and his situation hasn't actually changed.

"Hey, thanks for checking up on me. It's nice to hear your voice," he says.

"No problem. I've got to make sure you're healthy. Who else am I going to not rollerblade with?"

Ryan laughs and he guesses his meds have kicked in because he doesn't cough and he's even more tired than he'd been a few minutes ago. "I should go," he says. "I probably need to sleep."

"Okay," Z says. "Tell Greenwald he's a jerk."

"Every day," Ryan assures her and she's giggling when the call cuts off. He flips around to his laptop again, sending Alex a message that says _Z says your a jerk so I guess you're married now. Stay away from my wife. It's safe to come back if you want, going to sleep._

Shane has updated while Ryan had been on the phone, a great shot of Spencer in motion and an out-of-focus Brendon in the background, laughing. Surprisingly, Jon's already replied, just a short _awesome_ and Ryan agrees. He looks at the picture of Spencer again, his arms a blur of movement, and it reminds him of when Spencer first started taking drum lessons, when Ryan would go over to Spencer's grandmother's place and Spencer would show off what he'd just learned. Sometimes Ryan can't believe that was eight or nine years ago now; other times it feels like it's been way longer. His fingers itch for his guitar, but he decides to wait until tomorrow. He really needs to sleep.

He starts replying to Shane and it's nothing much, just _I like the lighting there_ , but he second guesses himself before he sends it. He takes a picture of himself with his laptop camera and a _The infirmary_ caption instead. Ryan looks as sick as he feels.

The phone rings just as Ryan's put his laptop aside and turned off the lights, and he answers without looking at his display. "Jesus, Z, I already told you I was going to sleep. I'll call you if I die," he complains. Someone's breathing on the other end, but the call disconnects before the person says anything. It's from an unknown number. "Wrong number," he mumbles to himself as he sticks the phone on the bedside table and rolls into the middle of the sunken mattress. "Odd."

+

Ryan dreams in real memory, of Spencer on day two of a flu bug and day fifty of a growth spurt, stretching out to all corners of his tiny single bed, his feet hanging over the edge.

This had happened on one of those days when things were going really bad with his dad and even though Spencer had been officially under quarantine and not allowed visitors, Ryan still managed to wait until everyone had gone to bed and snuck in through the window in the Smiths' den, the one with the broken lock. Ryan had to avoid the creaky floorboard in the second floor hallway, and he'd been so quiet that Spencer hadn't even noticed him at first. Of course, Spencer had been pretty drugged up and asleep at the time, but Ryan still liked it whenever he could get anything over on him.

Spencer had been wheezing slightly on every exhale and he was shivering, even though his blankets had all been thrown to the floor next to his bed. Ryan had closed Spencer's bedroom door quietly so his parents wouldn't wake up and gathered up the blankets, throwing them back on top of Spencer.

"Wake up, germ warfare." Ryan shook Spencer awake when even the blanket bomb didn't wake him up.

Spencer had grunted and rolled over, ignoring Ryan until he reached over and flicked Spencer in the middle of his head.

"The fuck?" Spencer asked groggily, only half-opening his eyes.

"Oh, you're up," Ryan said, feigning surprise. "Shove over."

Spencer started to move pretty much immediately, then stopped. "Wait. I'm sick, dude. What the hell are you even doing here?"

"My dad."

"Oh." Spencer moved the rest of the way over. "Don't get mad at me when you get a fever in two days. I've been sweating all the time I haven't been freezing."

"Being sick sucks," Ryan agreed, crawling in next to Spencer. By then they'd long since outgrown Spencer's bed together; Spencer had been doing a good job of outgrowing it all on his own lately as his baby fat started giving way to height. Still, they were both stubborn and Ryan made himself fit against Spencer's back. "God, you're like ten million degrees," he complained.

Spencer snorted. "Next time we're setting up the air mattress for you." He started to cough and Ryan awkwardly reached up and brushed Spencer's hair back. "Ungrateful jerk."

"I know, I know," Ryan said. "I'm a terrible human being and I'm lucky to have such a generous friend. Go back to sleep, idiot."

+

Ryan wakes up struggling to breathe, turning onto his side to cough into his pillow. It takes him a moment to reorient himself and realize he's still sick in a crappy motel room in Arizona, not sixteen and stuck in Las Vegas. There really isn't much of a difference when he thinks about it. Maybe he's lonelier now. Maybe not.

The room door swings open, and Alex creeps inside. Ryan realizes the gesture for what it is and he appreciates Alex's attempt at not waking him up.

"I'm not asleep," he says from the bed and swallows hard because his chest really hurts now.

"You okay?" Alex asks him. "You don't sound great."

Ryan struggles to sit up and tries to say yes, but he inhales strangely and goes off into a long, wet coughing fit that ends with Alex staring at him and Ryan running off to the bathroom again to spit a mouthful of phlegm into the sink. He slams the bathroom door closed behind him.

"Gross," he mutters, turning on the faucet to wash the gunk away. He gets a look at himself in the mirror and it's not a pretty picture. His hair sticks out at odd angles and his eyes are red-rimmed and sticky. Dark circles bloom just under his eyes and his whole face seems sweaty and sunken-in. "Gross," he says again.

Alex opens the door again and props himself up against it; Ryan listlessly watches him in the mirror. "Have you taken your temperature?" Alex asks.

"No thermometer."

"Oh, are thermometers in short supply now? I had no idea. Last I checked they were sold in stores everywhere."

Ryan ignores him. "I'm going back to bed."

He thinks he'll be okay for the show day after tomorrow, as long as he keeps taking the over-the-counter stuff. Ryan pushes away from the sink and sways uneasily for a second, though he manages to stay up without Alex's help.

Maybe he'll go to the doctor after their next show, if he still feels like this. Maybe not. He pretends not to notice Alex watching him as he stifles another cough and climbs back into bed. It's his and Jon's first tour and he doesn't want to stop it in the middle, right as they'd got going, not with all the hurdles he'd had to jump through to get them here. Ryan's just sick and tired of disappointing everyone.

+

"Ready to roll?" Ryan asks Jon the next morning after a shitty free continental breakfast with even shittier free coffee. Even Jon hadn't liked the coffee and he'd intake caffeine intravenously if he could.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jon replies, climbing into the driver's seat. Ryan pulls himself into the passenger seat and buckles himself in. He's still banned from driving duty because he's sick, which is probably a good thing, since he's doped up on Robitussin and aspirin and he'd smeared Vaporub on, too, even though it feels disgusting underneath his shirt and jacket. But he's determined to show Jon and everyone else that he's well enough to keep up with the tour and sleeping in the back of the van the whole way just couldn't do that. "You're sitting up here?" Jon asks.

"Yeah."

"Ryan."

"Save it. It's fine," Ryan says. He spreads a blanket over his knees and makes sure his bag is in easy reach. "I don't need the backseat."

Jon rolls his eyes, but turns the ignition anyway. Everyone milling around the van hurries into seats and Eric slides the side door shut as fast as he can. He doesn't look like much, but Jon turns into a mean driver when people aren't exactly where they're supposed to be when he's ready to go. Once when he'd first officially joined Panic, he ran into Brendon with an arena golf cart going two miles per hour because Jon had been ready to leave and Brendon was too busy talking to one of the lighting techs to notice. That's when they knew that Jon thought he was one of them. Ryan smiles at the memory as Jon throws his arm over the passenger seat and starts to back out.

"So," Jon starts once they pull out onto the highway.

"I feel _fine_ ," Ryan replies testily. He doesn't really. When he'd woken up, his ribs felt like an elephant was using him for a bed and he'd coughed up something even uglier than what had come out last night. Just getting out of bed took way more effort than was reasonable and standing upright gave him a bad case of the spins. Plus, Alex hadn't really spoken to him all morning, except to say that Ryan's bad breathing had kept him up all night.

" _So_ ," Jon starts again, "fourteen dates left."

"Oh." Ryan at least has the decency to be embarrassed. "It's been good so far, hasn't it?" he asks.

Jon shrugs and signals to change lanes. "It's quieter."

"Quiet can be good."

"Quiet _is_ good," Jon agrees. "At least in this case." He glances at Ryan and shoots him a smile. Jon starts drumming on the steering wheel, the way he does whenever he's gearing up to say something but still not sure how to word it. "Spencer called me," he says eventually.

Ryan raises his eyebrows.

"Last night, a little after Shane posted that picture," Jon says. "You saw it, right?"

"Yeah," Ryan says. Spencer's motion blur of arms pops into his mind's eye again.

"He totally interrupted our epic Uno tournament, too. I was about to take all of Eric's nickels."

"You were not!" Eric calls from the backseat.

"Lies," Jon says, casually waving him off without looking behind him. "Spencer said to say hi."

"To who?" Ryan asks.

Jon shoots Ryan a look. "To you, stupid. He's probably worried about you 'cause you're sick. Did you think you guys were engaged in some epic cold war?"

Ryan coughs into his fist and shakes his head. "No," he says and then amends, "Maybe. Probably not."

"So don't be so surprised." Jon reaches over and tries to flick Ryan's ear, but Ryan pushes his body against the passenger door. "He just asked me how tour was going. They're almost done with recording now. I think they only have one song left before they go into post-production."

"I know," Ryan says immediately. This time it's Jon's turn to raise his eyebrows. "What? I read their stupid twitters. Did you think I stopped paying attention to them when the band split?"

"Nah. I know you didn't," Jon says. "But you're paying closer attention than I would have thought."

Ryan shrugs. "I'm full of surprises."

Jon snorts. "You wish. You should call them, ask them how things are going. Tear down the Berlin Wall and end the cold war already."

"Maybe when I feel better," Ryan says dismissively. He points out the window. "You're about to miss our exit."

"So we are," Jon says mildly and turns off. Ryan's grateful that Jon lets the subject drop.

+

Ryan really tries to stay awake for Jon's entire leg of driving, especially since he hadn't been awake all that long when they started out, but the roads are empty and boring and even the non-drowsy kind of cough syrup eventually lulls him to sleep if he doesn't have any reason to stay awake. When he wakes up again it's late afternoon and the sun is already starting to dip down toward the horizon and he's shivering hard. Ryan bites his bottom lip to prevent his teeth from chattering audibly and draws his blanket up under his chin. His lungs ache and every time he tries to breathe out, there's a soft wheezing sound. Ryan tries to control it and fails.

"Whoa," Jon says, glancing over to Ryan's side of the van when he hears. Ryan refuses to look at him, swallowing down a lump of panic rising in this throat. "Ryan, fuck, I'm just going to say this because I know you don't want to hear it: That sounds so bad."

"I'm --" Ryan inhales sharply. "I'm," he tries again and suddenly stops, clamping his mouth shut as he tries to find tissues. He finds a few trapped underneath his thigh and he just manages to get one to his mouth before launching into a loud and long coughing fit.

"Fine?" Jon asks, raising his voice to be heard while Ryan chokes. "That's not the sound of someone who's fine. In fact, you sound way worse than you did a couple of days ago."

Ryan spits into the tissue and balls it up quickly, pretending not to notice that whatever he coughed up had been a little bloody. The van has a lot of shadows and it's getting dark outside. It might be anything.

"It's just a bad cough, Jon," Ryan says, clearing his throat so he doesn't sound so wrecked. "I know me and my mom don't always get on the best, but I'm pretty sure I don't need another one, okay? So back off."

"Fuck you, Ryan."

"Jesus, haven't you ever had a cold?"

"Yeah, I have!" Jon exclaims. "A fuckton of them. And I've never sounded like I was two breaths away from dying at any minute. Neither have you before. Have you seen yourself lately? You're, like, drenched in sweat but you have a blanket practically pulled over your head. Do your muscles still hurt? Are you dizzy? Do you think you could pass out?"

" _No_ ," Ryan lies. "I'm getting over this thing, okay?"

Jon snorts.

"C'mon, Jon. Fourteen dates left. Let's do tomorrow's show and see how I am after, okay? It's Denver, and we're sold out. You want to play, don't you?"

"Not if you're about to die."

Ryan closes his eyes and rubs at his forehead, quickly wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. "I had no idea you were so melodramatic. You think I would have picked up on that by now."

"I'm sorry for worrying about you," Jon says quietly. He isn't looking at Ryan anymore, his eyes firmly glued to the road, his knuckles gone white from clutching the steering wheel.

Ryan exhales slowly and manages not to cough or wheeze while doing it. "It's only a day," he says, lowering his voice. He curls up in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable. "If I'm still sick, I promise we can spend all day in some hospital then and they'll tell me I'm fine and give me some bullshit antibiotics and everything will be cool again, okay?"

"Okay," Jon sighs, "but I'm holding you to that."

+

When they get into Denver late that night, Eric's taken over driving duty and Jon is sitting with Ryan in the wayback, tapping a message into his phone. Ryan's been drifting in and out of sleep all day, waking up whenever they stop, so Jon can make Ryan eat some truckstop ramen or drink a bottle of Vitamin Water or get out for the inevitable bathroom break. He doesn't feel a lot better than he did before, but he appreciates the effort.

"Two hotel nights in a row?" Ryan says. He tries to sound disdainful at all of this needless monetary waste, but he knows he needs the bed rest and when compared the back of a tour van, there's no contest.

"Yeah, two in a row. Don't sweat it," Jon says. "I'm Ryan-sitting tonight," he tells Alex as they unload the van.

"Okay," Alex says. "I wanted a chance to steal all of Eric's nickels anyway."

Eric flips him off as he passes by.

"Feel better, man," Alex says to Ryan. They're the first words he's spoken to Ryan since this morning, but considering they haven't been sitting together all day and Ryan's been asleep for most of it, it's easy for Ryan to forgive him. He can't fault anyone for worrying about him, no matter how hard he tries.

"I feel like a million bucks already," Ryan says.

"Trampled by a million bucks, you mean."

Ryan manages a weak smile. "Same difference."

+

_**thisisryanross** If I had a million dollars, I'd be flat_

+

Ryan doesn't remember his dreams that night. He basically passes out the minute he gets to his and Jon's room, and he's not even embarrassed when Jon has to help him untie his shoes, though he doesn't need to hear the Walker Flip-Flop Manifesto again. He wakes up a lot, though, to cough or to kick blankets off or to pull them back on, and every time he falls asleep again he feels a bit worse because he's not feeling better.

Jon lets him sleep as late as he can before they have to check out, and then it's off to soundcheck. The venue keeps giving him crackers and bottles of water, and Ryan's grateful, but he has to admit that the home and over-the-counter remedies just aren't working anymore. He's been hiding out in a corner for a while now, sitting on the floor with his head propped up against a wall and breaking occasionally to cough all over himself. There are used tissues stuffed into a plastic bag next to him, and he's possibly never felt more disgusting in his life.

"I don't want to be sick anymore. I feel like crap," he tells Jon, when he wanders over with microwave chicken noodle soup for Ryan.

"Better than carp," Jon says sagely.

Ryan nods. "Good point. Carp diem."

"Seize the crap."

"Pass." Ryan holds out his hands for the soup and slurps down some when Jon gives it to him. It mostly tastes like hot, salty water with a few limp noodles thrown in so it's not false advertising, but the warmth still helps him breathe easier. "Thanks," he croaks gratefully.

"No problem," Jon says, sitting down next to Ryan. "You still all right for tonight? It's not too late to cancel."

Ryan shakes his head. "It is too late, but I'm not going to even if it wasn't." He shrugs and Jon slides over so Ryan can put his head on his shoulder. "It's only an hour, right? We'll just do what we did the other night. Maybe you can sing even more, cover for me a lot for the next few shows."

"Whatever you need, man."

"The crowds always like you, Jon," Ryan mumbles. His eyelids are growing heavy and that's just embarrassing, but it's not like he can help it. "I'll just stand there and look pretty."

+

Twenty minutes before they're meant to go on, Ryan breaks out the cough medicine and something to stop his splitting headache. They've got a stool set up for him on stage so he doesn't have to move around a lot, and Ryan decides not to switch out his guitars at all. It's been a really long time since he's played a straight set with the same one.

"Go Team Young Veins," he says. Jon holds up his hand and they don't quite high five before they make their way out.

Jon makes introductions like they planned, while Ryan gets settled down in his seat and raises his arm to wave when his name is said. Ryan raises his head. He gets dizzy immediately and the lights seem brighter here than he expected. He coughs once and closes his eyes to blot out the spotlights, but that only makes him dizzier. Breathing is getting difficult again and he's not sure what he should do.

"This is something off our first album," Jon is telling the audience. Ryan's hands are shaking kind of badly, and he doesn't even know what song they're meant to play. He makes the mistake of looking at the floor for the set list and grabs the side of his chair.

"Jon," Ryan says weakly.

"In fact," Jon continues, seemingly not noticing Ryan, "it's our only album." The crowd laughs. "I hope you like it."

"Jon," Ryan tries again. He sways dangerously and the last thing he remembers before he blacks out is a loud crash, a collective gasp, and someone yelling his name.


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer's got his headphones on even though they're between takes. As long as someone in the booth isn't talking to him, he can pretend that there's nothing in the world other than him and his kit. He smiles to himself and flips one stick, trying out a roll on a high-hat, seeing if it works inside his head for the riff Brendon played for him earlier.

He thinks it will; recording this time has been crazy easy and even if he's got a few doubts floating around in the back of his head, they're quiet doubts, just these little whispers of worry that are easy enough to drown out with rhythm.

Brendon comes over and pulls at one side of Spencer's headphones, quickly letting go so it snaps back into place against Spencer's ear.

"Did you need something, buddy?" Spencer points to his head with his drumstick. "I can't hear a thing."

"We're done," Brendon mouths at him.

"Oh, why didn't you just _say_ so?" Spencer grins and hops off his stool, throwing his headphones down.

"And," Brendon adds, "you're buying drinks tonight."

"Who said?"

"You. You said if we could lay down a full track today, my libations would be completely paid for."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't say libations," Spencer says. "Maybe cheap ass beer."

Brendon shrugs and goes up onto his tiptoes so he can sling an arm over Spencer's shoulders in half a hug. "Same thing."

Spencer shakes head and grabs his stuff. They wave at Mark through the glass as they leave, and he looks up from his phone long enough to wave back.

Once they get outside, Brendon leaps in the air like they're in a Mentos ad, pumping his fist into the air and letting out a whoop. "Ten motherfucking songs," Brendon says, and he's grinning so wide and he's so, so proud of himself. Spencer is, too, and it's really sort of endearing to watch. "I want to convert one of the other demos we did, and then that thing I played for you over the weekend. I think I've got one last idea, too; it's a big one, so I don't know how it's gonna play out."

"Well, try it out, and I'll tell you if it works," Spencer says. "But you know it will." Spencer reaches over and squeezes Brendon's shoulder. "You know how good you are. It's not like you need me to tell you."

"No," Brendon agrees, shaking his head. He's come a long way these past few years -- they both have. "But I like you telling me."

Spencer grins. He's got enough of an ego on his own to not need it stroked, but he likes hearing it from Brendon, too. They've got a good thing going now -- it's relaxed and easy and drama-free. Music's never been much of a hardship for Spencer, no matter what people seem to think, but it's good that things are still easy now. Considering all that's happened, that is. It's still a little hard to believe the way everything's played out, but Spencer's good at adjusting to fit new situations.

"Thirteen songs is a good number for an album," Spencer says. "Don't you think?"

"Lucky thirteen," Brendon agrees. Spencer files it away as a possible album title.

+

 ** _TheSpencerSmith_** Hey, did you know high rises leave out the thirteenth floor? Where do all those floors go?

+

A few days later, Spencer checks his messages from the backseat of a cab on a way to a meeting with Atlantic to discuss post-production and distribution because they've got twelve tracks laid down now and Brendon's promised the last one's on its way. Jon's posted about his and Ryan's tour again, not that Spencer can blame him. When they went out with Blink, Spencer had to stop himself from updating half as much as he wanted to. He loves the recording side of the music business, and he can take or leave the interviews and the meetings, but it's tour that really makes him come alive. Spencer knows finishing the album is a priority so he and Brendon can prove they're a good band on their own, but he can't help missing the road, too.

Ryan, though, he's regressed into the cryptic, like he always does when he's sick. It figures that Ryan's the first one to get sick. The first time they ever toured in a van he got a cold about four days into it, so Spencer's actually a little impressed that he's managed a few weeks without anything bad happening.

The driver pulls up to a curb and twists around in his seat. "We're here, bud."

"Thanks, man." Spencer tucks his phone back into his pants and gets out his wallet to pay. He tips a little extra because the guy is like a Zen master of navigating Los Angeles traffic and actually had gotten him to his meeting on time. Not that anyone else will be here yet, though. Adding fifteen minutes to any scheduled meeting time out here is pretty much par for the course.

Sure enough, Spencer has to kill thirty minutes reading _Entertainment Weekly_ , waiting for record execs and their manager, and once the meeting starts up, it's no less boring. They hammer out possible record release dates, reminding him to start wrapping things up in the studio (like he's stupid and doesn't understand pressure), and then there's a sketch outline of possible tour dates and venues and support acts they can take out on the road with them. 

It feels like a lot to take on all by himself. Back when it was the four of them, Spencer had to sit in on a lot of these meetings, but they spread out the obligations more evenly, or at least they'd show up in pairs, which was easier. But since the lion's share of the creative work is falling to Brendon, it only feels fair for Spencer to take on the day-to-day. He's always been good at it anyway, even though he can't quite pull off the wide-eyed kid who knows nothing about the music business act anymore.

He wishes Pete could have made it -- at least Spencer knows he's always in Panic's corner -- but he's at some press junket in New York for Ashlee's show. Even when he's around, it's silly to bug him for every little thing, so Spencer grins and bears it alone whenever he can. He makes promises and mostly comes out of there with his head and heart where they started. Spencer feels a little tired, but mostly hopeful, and tries to keep upbeat.

"It's all going to work out just fine," he mutters under his breath as he leaves. He digs out his phone and calls another taxi to take him home again, then checks his messages again. Ryan's words stare back at him: _Choking to death in a van. Head and heart need realignment_.

Ass. Would it kill him to take care of himself for ten minutes? Spencer shakes his head. It's not worth the worry. Ryan's a big boy; he's long since made it clear that he doesn't need Spencer anymore and Spencer has enough things that need taking care of here without adding Ryan back into the mix.

+

"Hey, dude." Zack's standing in their kitchen when Spencer gets back, letting all the cold air out of the fridge.

"Hey," Spencer says. "Make me a sandwich."

"Go fuck yourself with lunch meat," Zack says cheerfully.

Spencer grins. "Only if you don't eat it all first."

Zack gets out enough bread for two and starts assembling while Spencer supervises. "I don't make promises I can't keep." 

"I didn't even know you were coming over today," he says when Zack hands him his sandwich a minute later. "Nice of you to make the epic journey from San Diego."

"Wanted to see my geniuses at work, you know how it is. I take my job duties very seriously."

They go downstairs, to the makeshift studio Brendon set up when he'd moved in. Brendon is bent over his keyboard, his back to the door, deep in concentration and lost to the outside world the way he always gets. The sound is muted by Brendon's headphones and Spencer can only hear the plasticky up-down of the keys depressing and releasing as Brendon plays. Neither Zack nor Spencer bothers interrupting; they know better than to bother Brendon in the middle of composing and besides, they have sandwiches to put away.

Brendon finishes big, a long, held chord audible even through the headphones. He exhales and opens his eyes, and it's only then that he seems to realize he's being watched, shooting a glance over one shoulder. A grin immediately spreads across his face and he throws his headphones down.

"Big man!" Brendon shouts, running and jumping onto Zack's back.

"It's a good thing you eat fast," Spencer observes, pointing out Zack's empty hands. "You could have choked to death."

Zack rolls his eyes. "If I died that easy, I would have gone a long time ago. Ross would have electrocuted me by accident."

Spencer laughs and brushes the crumbs from his hands.

Brendon plays the song he was working on for Spencer and Zack. Sometimes it takes Spencer a while to get the point when songs are new -- Brendon calls it his everyman quality -- but this one, he's on board immediately, and he's already tapping out a beat against his legs before Brendon's even finished playing.

"That's the one," Spencer says happily. Zack nods from his armchair in the corner.

"No lyrics yet," Brendon says, somewhat sheepishly. Lyrics are still a little bit of a touchy subject. Not that what they write is bad but it's not their strong suit, either of them, and they know it. They've managed so far, though. Spencer's not worried about it.

"You'll get there," Spencer assures him. "You always do."

+

Shane comes by a little while later, once Spencer's behind his practice kit and banging away at the possible drumline. He's dimly aware of Shane photographing them, but ignoring that has become second nature. Brendon's bopping his head encouragingly behind him, laughing when Spencer goes into a two minute drum solo.

"What do you think?" Spencer says when he's done.

"I think you're a show-off," Zack calls from the corner, where Shane is showing him something in the viewfinder of his camera.

"I think we have our closing song," Brendon says.

"Hell to the yeah," Spencer enthuses and they exchange dorky high fives. "And to celebrate, you can buy my alcohol tonight."

Brendon makes a face. "Generous."

"I always am."

+

Shane corners Spencer upstairs while Brendon's getting changed.

"Hey," he starts, "did you hear from Ross at all?"

Spencer shrugs. "Do I ever? I keep up with him through Twitter, just like everyone else."

Shane frowns. "Someone I know saw them in Phoenix last night, and they said he looked sick."

"Well, he _is_ sick," Spencer points out. "Doesn't he have the flu or something? He's been talking non-stop online about his aching skeleton. You know how he is. He can't even whine about being sick normally."

"Yeah, but I mean worse than he's letting on. She said they finished their set, but she made it sound like he was about to pass out on stage. Maybe you or Brendon should call him. Or Jon, if you want. You know, just to check in."

"Maybe," he replies, but he doesn't know. Ryan's never liked Spencer lecturing him even when he had the right and there's no reason Spencer should feel obligated now.

+

They debate their options, but decide just to celebrate at home with way too much pizza and a shopping cart full of alcohol. It sounds like a pretty good night to Spencer, especially once Dallon calls to let him know he's in town and Shane invites the neighbors over for a Halo tournament. Plus, it's all on Brendon's dime, which is really just a bonus.

After two beers and two chasers, Spencer's feeling pretty happy and he flops back on the couch, getting out his camera to take a picture of himself. Other than a little bit of his nose and beard, it's just his smile taking up the entire frame and he laughs to himself as he uploads it to his Twitter account.

"Hey!" Brendon calls from across the room. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor with a game controller in his lap. "You and me, Smith. You're going _down_."

"Fast forward to you losing, loser," Spencer calls back and awkwardly rolls off the couch toward the TV.

Shane taps him on his shoulder a little while later, and hands him a beer. "See," he says, showing Spencer the screen of his phone as Spencer pauses the game over Brendon's loud protests, "I can post pictures of you, too."

The shot's mostly of Spencer playing, with Brendon a smiley background blur. It's one of the best pictures Spencer's ever seen of himself, and he doesn't think it's just the alcohol talking.

"Mine was better," Spencer says. Shane rolls his eyes.

"Let me see," Brendon says, leaning over to look. "Oh, hey, awesome."

"Yeah," Shane says. "That's what Jon said, too."

Spencer raises his eyebrows. "He told you that?" he asks and Shane nods. "Cool." He's about to unpause the game when Shane lets out a low whistle. "What?"

Shane turns his phone around again and now it's Brendon's turn to whistle. "That's one hell of an infirmary."

It's not the worst picture of Ryan ever taken, not even the worst one Ryan's ever taken of himself, but he's pretty clearly sick. Ryan's hair is sticking up in all directions and his mouth turns down at the corners. Spencer knows from Jon that tour's been going pretty well, so Ryan's expression must all be from the flu. A stab of worry immediately hits him in the chest.

"Stupid," Spencer mutters under his breath and he's not sure if he's talking about Ryan or himself. He hands his controller off to Shane. "Be right back," he tells them and stands up.

He pats himself down for his phone, but frowns when he realizes he can't find it and doesn't remember where he put it before. He ends up asking to borrow a phone off one of their neighbors, and shuts himself up inside his room.

Spencer sits down on his bed and turns the phone over in his hands. Of course he knows Ryan's number by heart; they all change their numbers a lot, but he makes it a point to memorize the numbers that count. So it's not that. It's just that he and Ryan haven't really had a one-on-one, since they had _The_ One-on-One, the final nail in the old Panic's coffin.

Before that, though, before the band mattered at all, they were friends. He can call his friends and see if they're okay. There's nothing wrong with that.

Spencer dials before he can talk himself out of it. 

Ryan picks up on the second ring. "Jesus, Z, I already told you I was going to sleep," he says on the other end, sounding wrung out and wrecked. "I'll call you if I die."

Spencer hangs up without saying hello.

"Fuck," Spencer says to himself. He shouldn't have done that, but if Ryan is sick and going to sleep, it's probably better that he did. He waits for a minute to see if Ryan calls back, but the phone doesn't ring.

+

The first time Spencer remembers ever seeing Ryan sick, Spencer was six and Ryan was seven. Ryan had definitely been sick before that, random days where his dad wouldn't let him come out to play, even when Spencer brought over his best trucks, but they went to different schools and Spencer had never _seen_ it.

That time, though, Ryan had been staying at Spencer's house overnight and they'd fallen asleep after staying up late playing video games and eating a lot of ice cream. The only time Spencer was ever allowed to do that was when Ryan stayed over, which was just one more reason why Spencer liked those days best of all.

So when Ryan woke Spencer up in the middle of the night, sniffling and saying, "I'm sick," Spencer thought he'd just eaten too many bowls of cookies and cream and told him to barf in the bathroom or, if he couldn't make it, at least on the floor.

"Not that kind of sick," Ryan said and struggled to get his hands out from under Spencer's Power Rangers sheets before he sneezed into his palms.

"Should I get my mom?" Spencer asked. His mom was always really good at taking care of him when he was sick and she'd probably know what to do, but Ryan shook his head.

"She'll make me go home so you don't get sick, too," Ryan told him. Spencer kind of doubted that she'd send him out in the middle of the night, but Ryan was a year older than him and sometimes knew more about these things than Spencer did. 

Spencer thought for a minute. "Do you want water?" he asked and Ryan nodded.

He got out of bed and went to the bathroom, filling up the plastic cup he and his sisters used for rinsing out their mouths after they brushed their teeth and came back to his room without spilling anything.

Ryan drank his water slowly and carefully, so slowly that Spencer found himself falling asleep standing up before he finished. "Thanks, Spencer," Ryan said once he was done. "You're the best."

"Welcome," Spencer said, taking the empty cup again and getting Ryan an extra blanket just in case he needed it during the night. "You okay now?"

Ryan considered this seriously. "Yes," he said eventually.

"Good." Spencer climbed back into bed and put his hand on Ryan's forehead, like his parents did when he was sick. His head was hot, but Ryan was already falling asleep again, wheezing softly. Spencer hugged him and went back to sleep.

+

Spencer calls Jon instead. Jon answers with a wary, "Who's this?"

"Hey, it's me," Spencer says. "Spencer," he adds after a second.

"Hey!" Jon's whole voice changes, brightening immediately. "I don't have this number for you. Did you get a new phone?"

"Nope, just borrowing one," Spencer says. "I couldn't find mine... I think it's in the living room, but I'm kind of, you know, intoxicated."

Jon laughs. "Is this a drunken booty call? Because I'm not anywhere near you right now."

"No!"

"Just kidding." All of the background noise on Jon's end immediately cuts out. "Sorry, had to hide out in the bathroom. We're in the middle of an epic Uno tournament. Eric's going to be shirtless after he sees all the draw-four wild cards I have. What are you up to?"

Spencer swallows down a sudden lump in this throat, trying not to miss the road or his old band too much. It doesn't really work. "Just checking in," he deflects. "Brendon and I only have one track left to lay down."

"That's awesome," Jon says. "I'm excited for you guys."

"Thanks," Spencer says. "It's good, Jon. Really good."

"I don't doubt it."

Spencer smiles. "How's tour?"

"Oh, you know." Spencer can imagine Jon shrugging. "It's tour. I haven't killed anyone yet."

"Is Ryan there with you?" Spencer asks.

Jon laughs. "Speaking of killing anyone?"

"Well."

"No, he's in another room. Quarantined."

"Good idea," Spencer says. "He's a pain in the ass when he's sick."

"That's an understatement," Jon sighs. "It's not so much that he's annoying everyone by asking for things..."

"It's more like he doesn't want to ask for anything?"

"Yeah."

Spencer says, "Ryan has no problem asking for stuff he wants. He just has no idea what he needs."

Jon hmms thoughtfully. "You didn't call to ask how tour was going, did you?"

"Just tell him I said hi, okay?"

"You could tell him yourself," Jon says. "Just an idea."

"Maybe," Spencer says. "But I'll let him get his sleep tonight. Later, Jon."

"Don't be a stranger."

Brendon bursts into Spencer's room just as Jon hangs up and he's grinning as he waves a wrinkled napkin in Spencer's face. It has writing scribbled all over it. " _Lyrics_ ," he says enthusiastically. "We can put this shit to bed."

+

Two days later they're back in the studio, Brendon's killer words and music coming together in beautiful ways. They've been working so hard on this that Spencer's barely had a chance to worry about anything else and now that it's getting recorded, he knows it's a good thing that his focus has been so single-minded.

"Play it back again," Brendon says, after their fourth take. Spencer listens to it all the way through, tapping his foot in time with the bass drums he'd tracked.

"I like your vocals better on your third take, except on the last chorus," Spencer says. "It still needs something, but this time was better."

Brendon nods. "Can we play that back from right before the chorus?"

Mark rewinds and Brendon starts singing along with himself, a harmony that Spencer's pretty sure Brendon made up on the spot.

"Shit," Spencer says, seriously impressed, and the sound engineer whistles. Brendon's already scurrying back into the recording booth to get it down.

"He's really got something, doesn't he?" Mark asks him, which isn't news to either of them, but Spencer nods anyway.

"We've always known that," he says.

After that, there are enough follow-up takes to carry them well into the night, but by the time they've done, the song's got a rough cut that Spencer can already see as a single. It's pretty awesome and they say goodbye to the staff with grins on their faces.

"We've got a motherfucking album." Spencer holds up his hand for a high-five, which Brendon returns enthusiastically.

"A motherfucking _awesome_ album," Brendon says. 

"Next is post-production, then tour, then _the world_."

"Yeah," Brendon agrees, "but first it's your turn to pay for my beer again."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Well, okay. But that's only because you're a musical genius and that deserves a reward."

Brendon laughs, bright and happy, just as Spencer's phone starts ringing from somewhere inside his bag.

"Fuck," Spencer says, digging around to find it and having no luck. He manages to find it just as whoever it is hangs up on him and Brendon's phone starts ringing. Spencer looks for his missed call.

"It's Jon," they say in unison, and then exchange looks. Brendon answers his phone. "Hey, did you just call Spencer?" asks Brendon. "What's up?" Spencer can hear Jon's voice on the other end; he can't make out what he's saying, but he can tell that he's speaking way faster than he normally does. Brendon's eyes get wider and wider and he finally says, "Is he okay?" and Spencer's stomach drops.

Brendon pushes his phone at Spencer. "You should take this," he says.

"Hey, Jon," Spencer says. His voice shakes and Brendon takes a side-step closer. "What's going on?"

+

Spencer and Brendon get on the first direct flight from Los Angeles to Denver.

***

Ryan pictures himself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies. Then, mid-dream, he realizes he's dreaming and it's a stolen dream at that. Even unconscious he has to fight for his own originality and that really seems unfair.

_Ryan._

He can hear someone calling his name, but he's pretty alone in this stupid boat of his. Ryan ineffectually slaps an oar against the water and the sky turns from friendly orange to angry red.

_Wake up, Ryan._

"I _am_ up," he says irritably. If whoever it is really wants to speak to him so badly, why don't they just come over and get him instead of letting him float on aimlessly forever?

_Ryan._

"Annoying voice." Ryan dips one oar into the water and paddles himself in a circle.

_Come on, Ryan. There are a lot of people waiting for you here. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?_

Ryan rolls his eyes. Whoever's talking to him has clearly never met him. Disappointing people is what he does.

Of course, he never really means to. Ryan sighs. He supposes there is that.

_Ryan._

Ryan stays still and listens. The voice keeps calling his name and he thinks it's coming from the same direction, the place where the sun is stuck on the horizon, setting or rising, Ryan can't tell. He puts the other oar in the water and strokes; to his complete surprise, the boat moves through the water smoothly and when he gets to the sunrise-sunset, the whole scene disappears.

Ryan drops over the edge with an accompanying musical sting. Maybe he should be scared, but he's not.

And he's gone.

+

"Did you see that? I think his eyes opened. Did his eyes open?"

"Shit, get a doctor."

"I'm going!"

Now there's commotion all around him, the slap of rubber against linoleum and hushed, excited voices, like a crowd muffled by backstage. 

"Ryan?"

Ryan opens his eyes and squints up at Jon leaning over him. "You're not the girl with kaleidoscope eyes."

Jon laughs once, a short bark of relief. "No," he says, "and I'm not the Queen of England either. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Where am I?" Ryan struggles to sit up, but he hurts all over and barely has the energy to lift his head. Also, he seems to have a needle stuck in his arm. There are machines beeping all around him, which answers his first question, but he has follow-ups, too. "Why am I in a hospital?"

Alex runs back inside with two people Ryan's never seen before, but based on the lab coat and scrubs, he can make a couple of educated guesses.

"Nice to see you with us again," one of them says, a woman with blonde hair and a pretty smile. He recognizes her voice from his dreams. "I'm Dr. Barton. You were unconscious for nearly eight hours, gave your friends a pretty good scare."

"Your friends and several hundred witnesses," Jon clarifies.

"And the people they texted," Alex says. "Oh, and the whole internet, which thinks that you've OD'd, died, or faked the whole thing as a publicity stunt."

Jon shushes Alex, punching him in the arm for emphasis.

Bits and pieces of memory start to stitch themselves back together. Ryan knows he'd been dizzy and hot and coughing nonstop, and he remembers going out on stage, but after that there's mostly nothing at all. "What's wrong with me?" he asks.

Dr. Barton smiles at him. "Nothing that a lot of rest, fluids, and medicine can't cure. We're giving you fluids intravenously right now because you were dehydrated when they brought you in, but you'll probably be able to leave in a day or two, once your fever goes down. From what your friends told me, you'd been sick for a while and the change in altitude probably didn't help much. The thing about pneumonia in people your age is it's so easily preventable. You get the flu, but you think that it's _just_ the flu and you ignore it and keep pushing yourself while your body gets worse and worse. But those symptoms are like bright yellow warning flags." The nurse that came in with Alex and the doctor starts checking Ryan's vitals. "You're not invincible," the doctor says. "Don't wait next time."

"Pneumonia?" Ryan repeats.

"We'll have to run some tests to be sure," Dr. Barton says. "But it really looks that way from where I'm standing."

"Oh," says Ryan in a small voice.

+

Jon sits in one of the vinyl chairs alongside Ryan's bed, his legs stretched out and propped up at the foot of the bed. No one else is there with them; Alex has gone on a search for coffee not from a vending machine or hospital cafeteria and everyone else is holding tight for them at a hotel. The other bed in the room remains unoccupied.

Ryan feels a heart-to-heart coming on and he doesn't know if he likes it.

"Viral pneumonia, huh?" Jon says.

Ryan nods. "They're pretty sure. Just in case, they took a chest x-ray and did some culture -- by the way, if you can find a way to make sure I never have to hock up phlegm in front of a nursing staff again, I'd appreciate it -- but since it's a mutated flu virus, it's probably not bacterial."

"Is that, like, more serious?"

"I don't know," Ryan says. He raises his arm and coughs into the crook of his elbow. "The doctor said something about giving me antibiotics so nothing new develops, but I think it means there's less they can do for what I have right now. Which means it'll take even longer for me to get better."

"Okay," Jon says decisively, "I'm canceling the tour."

"Don't I get some say in this?"

Jon laughs. "No, Ryan. You know what's going to happen, don't you? The doctor's going to tell you that you have to sleep this off and not leave the house for a few weeks and maybe you'll need someone staying with you, too. Do you think we can still tour when you're falling asleep talking to me right now?"

Ryan jerks his head up suddenly. "Am not."

"Fucking liar." Jon sounds tired and frustrated. "Forget the tour for now, we'll work it out. Right now I'm trying to figure out the best way to get you back to Los Angeles, considering we can't just stick you on a commercial flight with dozens of innocent bystanders and making you drive back in the van is just as dumb. Denver to L.A. is like a sixteen hour drive."

"I can ride in the van," Ryan says. He stifles a yawn. "I'll stay in the back. If anyone else were going to get sick, they would have already. It won't be that bad."

"We'll see," Jon replies in a tone that implies that he hates the idea. "I'm going to find Alex. You, sleep."

+

Ryan spends a lot of the day sleeping. The nurses wake him to check his vitals, then he sleeps. Someone makes him eat soup and red jello, then he sleeps. Orderlies bring in bouquets of flowers that say 'Get Well Soon' and stuffed animals sent by strangers, then he sleeps.

"Do you know when he'll wake up?" someone asks. "We can come back later..."

"I'm up," Ryan mumbles and opens his eyes. He's rolled onto his side and facing the window. The room has gone almost dark, streaks of sunset painting the walls in pretty shades of orange and red. "It's okay."

" _Finally_." A chair scrapes against the hospital room floor and Ryan's suddenly face-to-face with a beaming Brendon. "What the fuck is wrong with you, fainting onstage?"

"Didn't mean to," Ryan says.

"Attention whore," Brendon says fondly.

Ryan smiles a little. "Why're you here?"

"He came with me. I had to drag him kicking and screaming."

Ryan lifts his head and blinks up at Spencer, who's already rolling his eyes and giving him his best 'what the hell have you done _now_?' smile. The immediate relief that washes over Ryan at seeing Spencer is a surprise to even him. It's not that Ryan thinks his friends wouldn't visit him in the hospital, but a thousand mile trip is still going above and beyond, especially when things between them lately haven't exactly been the easiest they've ever been.

"Hey, Spence," Ryan says instead of all of the things he's thinking.

"Hey, stupid." Spencer's smile widens. "Jon tells us that you're not going to die, which would be great to let us know before we jump on a last-second plane. Think you can arrange it so you can regain consciousness earlier next time?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Zack's already called to yell at us both twice for leaving," Brendon says, fiddling with the corner of Ryan's sheets. "But I think he's just mad we left without taking him. We're gonna have to do a lot of groveling."

Jon saunters in the room and hands Brendon and Spencer styrofoam cups of coffee. Brendon looks grateful, but Ryan knows from Alex that the coffee is just one step up from caffeinated mud.

"Group shot," Jon tells them solemnly. He already has his phone out and he's taking the picture of Spencer and Brendon straight off a plane and Ryan laid up in a hospital bed before anyone can even protest. It's probably not the best picture of the three of them ever taken, but Ryan smiles for it anyway.

+

When visiting hours end, Ryan expects everyone to clear out so he can sleep, but there's a silent conversation over his head, which ends with Brendon and Jon saying goodbye, and Spencer stretching out on one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs, his long legs disappearing underneath Ryan's bed. He has his arms crossed over his chest, as if daring Ryan to say anything.

"Are you staying there? It doesn't look too comfortable," Ryan observes tiredly. He'd already been falling asleep, but he doesn't need Spencer playing nursemaid. There are actual nurses to do that. 

"It's not," Spencer agrees.

"You should go with Brendon and Jon; it'll be way more fun."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I didn't come here to hang out."

 _Why did you come here?_ Ryan wants to ask, but doesn't. "Then you should get one of the nurses to bring you a blanket," Ryan says. He presses his call button.

Ryan thinks it's going to be awkward about falling asleep with Spencer watching from his chair, but his body feels too weak and the lure of sleep is too strong. Instead, it's sort of comforting. Right before he drops off, he imagines fingers lightly running through his hair, but he probably dreamed it.

+

The next morning Brendon is on distraction duty. Ryan recognizes it for what it is, but the day is off to a bad start so he's in no shape to try and discourage him. It turned out to be good that Spencer slept in the room because around three in the morning Ryan started coughing so harshly and for so long that he couldn't get water or even reach the call button. Of course it woke Spencer up, so he was able to get a nurse. He wound up helping Ryan take his cough suppressant and drink a glass of water, rubbing his back until the codeine in the medicine made Ryan blink sleepily and drop off again. 

Ryan feels embarrassed and grateful and a whole mixture of emotions thinking about it now, so Brendon trying to show off some card trick is a welcome diversion. Even if it does mean Brendon's licking the back of playing cards and slapping them onto his forehead.

"It's the four of diamonds, right?" Brendon asks. He looks pretty smug for someone with a six of clubs on his head. 

Ryan nods. "Exactly." He wraps his arms around his pillow. "Where'd you learn such an awesome trick?"

"Wait, that's really it?" Brendon asks, sounding surprised. The card falls off Brendon's head into his lap. He frowns down at it. "Hey!" he says accusingly.

"No, I'm seriously impressed," Ryan says. "You should replace Penn and Teller in Vegas. Your parents would be so proud of you."

Brendon rolls his eyes and looks like he wants to dump the entire deck over Ryan's head. Ryan coughs into the pillow as a reminder that he's very ill and deserves a lot of leeway, making Brendon sigh. "You're such a fucking asshole, Ross."

"I know," Ryan agrees. "So are you planning on telling me what Jon and Spencer are fighting about outside my room, or are you going to pretend everything's great when they come back in?"

"Uh," Brendon says intelligently.

"I've got pneumonia; I didn't go temporarily deaf," Ryan reminds him.

"I know," Brendon says. "But I'm mad at them. I'm only not out there because I think if people are going to fight about you, they should at least have the courtesy to do it in front of you. It's not like you're not going to know it's about you."

Ryan nods. "I didn't think this was another Dodgers versus Cubs thing. What is it about?"

Brendon shrugs. "I'll let Spencer tell you. Or Jon, I guess, depending on who wins. Are you happy you're getting released today?"

"Yeah," Ryan says. He sighs. "Actually, not really. I'm fucking mad at myself that I got our tour canceled and that I ruined your recording high and that I'm sick and I'll be sick for god only knows how long. It sucks here, but at least I don't really have to think too hard about anything. I don't even know how I'm getting home."

"Yeah, about that," Brendon says, just as the argument outside abruptly stops and Spencer and Jon come back inside. "Hey," Brendon greets them, more guiltily than Ryan thinks he should be.

Jon's got his resigned face on and his hands are stuffed into his jeans pockets, so Ryan's pretty sure he knows who won their argument. 

"Hey Ry," Spencer says, "how do you feel about Aspen?"

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "I don't think I'm up for a romantic skiing weekend just now, Spence."

***

This ranks up there as one of the stupidest, most impulsive things Spencer has ever done and as someone who's known Ryan Ross for three-fourths of his life, the list is already long. He can't even blame Ryan for this one, either; this time it's Ryan who's coming along for the ride.

Literally.

Spencer has a rental car and Ryan bundled up in the backseat with all of their stuff. Impulsive isn't usually his thing, but before checking with Ryan or Jon or even Brendon, Spencer had rented a car, a bungalow, and bought himself a week's worth of clothing and supplies, _then_ told everyone his plan.

Inside his head, it all seemed simple enough: Aspen was a few hours away instead of sixteen, it was remote enough to mean Ryan could recover without anyone interfering, and if everything was in Spencer's name, then Spencer had to be there, too. Jon had been angry that Spencer did everything without running it by anyone else, especially Ryan, since it had to be left up to Ryan what happened to him, but Spencer knew it was only the last point that had tripped Ryan up for even a second.

Because Spencer isn't the one who's sick. _Spencer_ isn't the one who has to pause his music so he can recover. Spencer doesn't have to wait for Ryan. Not anymore.

But he had anyway. He isn't even sure why he'd done it, so he can't blame Ryan for his confusion.

Spencer glances in the rearview mirror, at Ryan asleep with his mouth open, wheezing softly.


	3. Chapter 3

They pull into a gravel driveway just as the sun is starting to set. Ryan wakes up with a startled inhale of breath as soon as Spencer brakes.

"You all right?" Spencer asks, turning around to look at him in the backseat. Ryan's blinking sleepily at his surroundings, looking a little detached and confused in his cocoon of blankets, but he nods. Spencer decides to take him at his word and nods back. "Okay, well, as much as you'd probably like getting carried everywhere, there's no way I can carry your bony ass inside."

"Dick," Ryan says. His voice is rough with sleep.

"Just for that, I'm leaving all of your shit in the car." Spencer gets out and opens the back door, holding out his hand for Ryan. There's a little bit of tugging and scuffling, but Spencer eventually manages to get Ryan detangled from his makeshift backseat bed and onto his feet. For all of Spencer's denials that he can carry Ryan, he still winds up bearing most of Ryan's weight, Spencer's arm around Ryan's middle while Ryan leans heavily into him. When they'd checked out of the hospital earlier, someone wheeled Ryan to the car and helped Spencer get him inside and Brendon and Jon had been distracting him with goodbyes, so Spencer hadn't had time to really notice how weak Ryan still was, or how warm, though Spencer isn't sure if that's from fever or all the time under a blanket.

Spencer fumbles with the combination on the lockbox outside their rental bungalow to get at their keys. It seemed easier than regular check-in when Spencer had made the reservation over the phone, but he hadn't taken into account that it'd be almost dark and he'd have a warm, fully grown human using him for support. But Ryan's already almost asleep again standing up so he doesn't have the energy to tease or even notice, and Spencer finally manages to get them both inside without letting go of Ryan once.

First priority is finding Ryan's room. The place is set up like a nice-sized apartment: kitchen, sitting area with a fireplace, two bedrooms, two baths, a patio opening up to the great outdoors. This way Spencer can mostly stay out of Ryan's way while still remaining close by. All in all it's a pretty good plan, except for the part where Spencer had dropped his very busy life for someone he's barely spoken to in months.

Ryan's room is the bigger of the two, the one with the en suite bathroom, which makes sense since Spencer will be able to move around freely. That bathroom is Ryan's first stop as he zombie-shuffles inside and slams the door closed while Spencer waits outside. Two minutes later Spencer hears rough coughing through the door and the sounds of Ryan spitting and running the tap. Ryan's rubbing his chest and looking embarrassed when he comes back out; Spencer ignores this.

"What do you want to do?" Spencer asks. "Do you want to change? Eat? I didn't bring too much food with us, but I bought a fuckton of soup and I probably can handle that."

Ryan shakes his head. "I just want to go back to sleep," he says and sighs. "It feels like that's all I ever want to do."

Spencer shrugs. "Well, you're sick. It's not like anyone's expecting you to run a marathon."

"Guess not." Ryan kicks off his shoes and stumbles toward the bed, which is huge and comfortable looking, way better than a hospital bed and probably better than anywhere Ryan's slept since he went out on tour. He pulls back the covers and there's a look of satisfaction on his face when he climbs in and settles between the sheets.

"You okay in here without me?" Spencer asks.

Ryan nods.

"I'm gonna go get our stuff and then explore."

"You have fun --" Ryan stifles a yawn. "You have fun with that."

It only takes two trips for Spencer to get everything out of the car; he supposes that's one good thing about spontaneous trips into the mountains with your ex-best friend who's given himself a potentially fatal illness -- you don't bring as much stuff on vacation as you normally would. When he's done, he checks in on Ryan again, finding him dead to the world. He decides to leave him alone.

Spencer checks out his own room, which is right next to Ryan's and has an impressive bed of its own, even though the room is smaller, and digs out his laptop to check if the wireless connection he'd been promised really works. It does, and their cell signal is good, too. He figures out the quickest route to the nearest hospital -- not that he thinks they'll need it, or rather he hopes not -- but it's a just-in-case thing. He needs it to feel grounded, secure. Spencer's big on security.

After ten minutes of checking out the flatscreen television and the darkened view from the backyard, Spencer winds up getting out his phone and calling Brendon. It's not that he's suddenly freaking out over what he's doing here -- only, yeah, he's totally freaking out.

"Spence?" There's a lot of noise wherever Brendon is. "Everything okay?"

"Totally okay," Spencer says, forcing casual. He's pacing back and forth in the sitting room, nervous and restless with unused energy. "Great, in fact! Just letting you know we got here in one piece. Ryan's asleep again, of course, and I'm wandering around, getting settled. Where are you? You good?"

"Yeah," Brendon says slowly, drawing out the word. Spencer can already tell from his tone that he doesn't believe a word that Spencer's saying. "Jon and I hung out for awhile, but it got kind of weird, since... well, you know." Spencer does. "Since everything. Anyway, Zack booked my ticket and now I'm just killing a little time before we board."

"Sounds good." Spencer flops backwards onto a couch and throws an arm over his eyes. "Hey, Bren?"

"Yeah, Spencer?"

"Are you really okay with this? With me doing this?"

Brendon doesn't answer right away. "Sort of," he says eventually. "I wish you'd talk to people before you made big decisions, especially ones that affect people other than you, but I get it. There's, like, an order to things."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, our music is always way up there for me, and I know it is for you, too, but that's not all there is. You get it?"

"No, not really." Spencer laughs at himself and it sounds a little hysterical. "I think I've had too many long days for cryptic."

"I just mean that no matter where the music is, no matter what's happened with the band – bands, whatever, people are more important. To both of us."

"Even Ryan?"

Brendon chuckles. "Well, he's a bastard, but we both love him. You know it and I know it and it's no use denying it."

Spencer frowns. "I can try."

"Says the dude who's holed up in a resort in Aspen with him," Brendon says. "I don't know if you realize this, but you kind of lack credibility." The noise behind Brendon amplifies while Spencer's letting that set in. "Hey, I gotta go; we're boarding now."

"Okay." Spencer rubs at his eyes. "I guess I should check up on him again anyway."

"Hang in there, Spence. I'll hold down the fort here so stop worrying so much."

Easier said than done, but Spencer nods anyway. "I'll try. Have a safe flight back."

"I will," Brendon replies. "Don't get cabin fever, but remember that if you do, the other guy has pneumonia and you can always blame any suspicious deaths on that."

Spencer laughs and hangs up.

Ryan's awake again when Spencer finds him and out of bed to Spencer's dismay. He's just searching through one of his bags that Spencer left in his room, though, and he _ah-ha_ s to himself triumphantly.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asks, then feels bad when Ryan jumps and spins to stare at him, startled like a skittish animal.

"Jesus, you scared me," Ryan replies, using that same sleep-rough voice from before. "Just looking for my meds."

Ryan brings the paper bag from the hospital pharmacy over to the bed with him and sits, spilling its contents out onto the comforter. Spencer hesitates for a minute before joining him.

"I need to take my antibiotics," Ryan explains. He points to his phone on a bedside table. "The alarm went off in my pocket and reminded me. There's cough medicine and pain killers, too, if I want them." He laughs to himself as he checks out the label of his pills, shaking the bottle at Spencer. "One good thing about landing in the hospital is they give you the good stuff. Do you think I can make money selling these on the internet?"

"You could if I thought for a second you'd ever sell your good pain killers," Spencer says mildly.

Ryan looks up at that, half-smiling. "So you're done walking on those eggshells now?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Spencer, raising his eyebrows.

Ryan shrugs and pushes a limp lock of hair behind his ear. "I guess it's good that you sound like yourself. With me, I mean."

Spencer's not sure how to take that. "Ingrate. Do you want water for those?" Ryan pauses, looking like he's about to say something or like he's remembering something, but he just nods. Spencer walks to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and sets his own phone to go off the next time Ryan needs his pills. There's something so familiar about bringing Ryan the water, about the naked gratitude in his eyes over something so stupidly simple, and when he asks Ryan if he needs anything else before Spencer goes to bed, there's too long a pause before Ryan says no.

Not too long ago, Spencer would have asked Ryan what the hell was going on in his head, but he doesn't know if he still has the right anymore.

+

 ** _TheSpencerSmith_** In the House. Of the Rising. Sun.

+

Spencer doesn't sleep that well, waking up nearly every hour to strain and hear if he's missing the sounds of Ryan needing his help, but he's greeted by silence every time. At nine, he finally gives up and pokes his head into Ryan's room. Ryan's still asleep, only wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants he's had since high school, his covers shoved to the foot of the bed; Spencer guesses this is to make room for his arms and legs which are spread out to all corners. Ryan's so skinny that Spencer forgets sometimes that he can take up all that room because he's got arms and legs like a spider.

Ryan grumbles in his sleep, like he's hearing Spencer thinking about him. He starts to shiver as Spencer watches, rolling onto his side and pulling his arms and legs close to his body. Spencer sneaks into the room and tugs Ryan's covers back over his body, waiting until Ryan relaxes again. He feels a little creepy doing it, but reminds himself that it's okay, that it's what he's there for.

A couple of hours later, Ryan's still not awake, but Spencer has eaten breakfast and managed to figure out how to work the coffeemaker without any great catastrophes and gets to sit outside and enjoy nature for a bit. He thinks about Brendon in California, maybe getting to work on mastering their album or maybe trying to hold off on it until Spencer's back, and wonders how far back this will put them. At least he doesn't think this will affect their touring schedule, not like Jon and Ryan. He wants to yell at Ryan for having been so stupid to let things go for so long, but he can see himself doing the same thing. They have so much riding on their music, and as much as they all like to pretend they're not so desperate to prove themselves anymore, Spencer knows that's a lie.

The patio door slides open slowly, and Spencer looks over his shoulder.

"Ryan, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Enjoying the weather?" Ryan suggests. He's breathing a little heavily, like the effort of getting from his bed to the door is a high-impact cardio workout, and he looks like hell. He leans heavily against the doorframe and tentatively breathes in deeply, doing it again when he manages not to cough. "It's peaceful out here. Pretty."

"Yeah, I know." Spencer gets up to help Ryan back inside. He settles him at the kitchen table instead of bothering to bring him back to his room; if Ryan doesn't want to spend all day in bed, Spencer can't really blame him, even if it doesn't seem like such a hot idea. "How do you feel?"

Ryan smiles weakly. "Like I have pneumonia. So great, naturally."

"Naturally," Spencer agrees. "Anything else?"

"Hungry," Ryan decides after a moment's consideration. "I can't remember the last time I ate."

"Before we left the hospital," Spencer tells him. "I offered last night, but you were basically asleep already when I asked. I don't even know if you remember."

Ryan nods. "I do. I've had so many half-asleep conversations lately that I'd be pretty much an amnesiac if I didn't remember any of them."

Spencer laughs and leaves Ryan at the table so he can dig through their grocery bags. He doesn't really talk to Ryan while he heats up soup, glancing over at him from time-to-time. Ryan starts out watching him, his head propped up on one hand, but every time Spencer looks over after that, his head has drooped more and more, until his arms are folded on top of the table and Ryan's resting his head on top of them.

"Hey, Ryan," Spencer calls.

Ryan jerks his head up and just manages to cover his mouth before coughing. Spencer shakes his head and turns the burner off on the stove; he goes over to the table and helps Ryan to his feet.

"You know what?" Spencer asks.

"What?" Ryan says, letting himself be pulled around like a ragdoll. When Spencer gets his arm around his body, Ryan leans all of his weight into Spencer's body again.

"You're fucking heavy," Spencer says. "Just in case you didn't know."

Ryan laughs into Spencer's neck, the warmth of it tickling a little. "First time I've ever heard that," he says. "Sorry for the field trip. I just didn't want... I don't like being helpless."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Like anyone does."

It takes a couple of minutes, but Spencer gets Ryan set up in his bed again, a few pillows shoved behind his back so he can sit up in bed. It's all very pampered invalid, especially when Spencer manages to find a tray in the kitchen and sets it up with a bowl of chicken noodle, some crackers, and a spoon so Ryan can eat in bed. If he had a rose in a vase, it'd basically be room service.

"What's so funny?" Ryan asks when Spencer comes back in with the tray, chuckling to himself.

Spencer shakes his head and puts the tray over Ryan's lap. "Just thinking that you're missing a rose in a vase. I'm never going to get four stars with this kind of service."

Ryan looks down at his soup, considering. "Roses are pretty romantic," he says. "If you really want me to respect you in the morning, you need that red jello hospitals have, with the pieces of fruit suspended."

"You don't even like jello," Spencer says. "I watched you in Denver; you spent more time poking at it than eating it."

"Yeah, but that's fun." Ryan waggles his eyebrows in what he probably thinks is a suggestive manner, but he ends up just looking stupid.

Spencer shakes his head. "Do you need anything else?"

"Not really." Ryan shrugs. "But you could stay," he suggests. "If you wanted."

Spencer hesitates for a second and he doesn't even know why. What's he going to do if he leaves Ryan alone again? Watch TV, email Brendon, and stare out at some trees and contemplate his existence? He settles down next to Ryan, stretching out so that their legs touch and watches as Ryan eats. The whole thing is ridiculously methodical; Ryan's always been a big eater, though a slow one, and now he's moving at a glacial pace with every spoonful.

"Is the soup crappy?" Spencer asks finally.

Ryan shakes his head. His cheeks are a little bit pink. "My hands are kind of shaking. I guess the lack of food is going to my head or something and I don't want to knock the bowl over onto the bed."

"That would suck," Spencer agrees. He grabs the spoon out of Ryan's hand before he can think about what he's doing and dips it into the bowl. Ryan looks so surprised when Spencer holds the spoon to his lips that he opens up and swallows without question.

"I feel like a giant baby. This is ridiculous," Ryan says, letting Spencer feed him again.

"No, this is ridiculous," Spencer says and starts making airplane noises, zooming the spoon toward Ryan's mouth. "Open up the hangar, Ryan! Special delivery!"

Ryan cracks up. "Why am I friends with you again?"

Spencer shakes his head. "No idea. C'mon, just a little more and I'll see if you're ready for spoon duty again."

After Ryan's finished eating, he's ready for sleep again, and Spencer pushes down a little disappointment because he'd actually been having a lot of fun and that was strange and strangely familiar all at once. He's missed their easy back-and-forth more than he was willing to admit to himself, but Ryan needs all the rest he can get so Spencer stops any greedy thoughts in their tracks.

Instead, he takes advantage of the daylight and fresh air and walks around the grounds. It really is pretty and peaceful, just like Ryan had said, and the whole situation is surreal. Spencer knows he's detached and avoidant as long as he's here. When he gets back inside, there's a voicemail on his phone, just Pete checking in to see how he is:

 _Hey Spence Wentz, I hear you're on some sort of secret spy mission in the mountains. Tell the target that I hope he gets well soon and if you and Brendon need someone extra to fight battles while you complete your assignment, you guys know where to find me._ Pete pauses. _Seriously, dude, take care of your own. You have to._

Spencer looks in on Ryan and feels his forehead, which seems a little cooler. "Taking care of my own what?" he wonders, brushing Ryan's hair off his forehead. Ryan mumbles incoherently and turns over in his sleep.

+

 ** _TheSpencerSmith_** Did anyone read those chicken soup for the soul books as a kid? They were pretty stupid.

+

After a couple of days, they've got the eating-sleeping-medicine-bathroom routine down. Or so Spencer thinks -- the bathroom thing is pretty easy. Ryan's used to sharing a small space with a bunch of other people so he doesn't get shy about Spencer listening in on the other side of the door and he's mobile enough that he usually just needs help getting out of and back into bed. He tires out easily and he'll begin coughing harshly at the simplest provocation, but he's not so bad that he can't stay upright for a few minutes. It isn't until one night when Spencer comes in with the thermometer to see if Ryan's fever has completely broken and finds Ryan sitting up, scratching his head and eyeballing the bathroom, that he realizes there's something he hadn't thought of.

"Hey, man," Spencer greets. "Everything okay?" He hands Ryan the digital thermometer and Ryan turns it on and shakes it out.

"Was just counting days," Ryan says. He sticks the thermometer underneath his tongue.

"Days to what?"

Ryan holds up one finger to wait until the thermometer beeps. The digital display flashes 99.2 and both Spencer and Ryan are relieved to see it.

"Not bad," Ryan says, and Spencer nods. "Days since my last shower. I woke up smelling myself and it was kind of gross. Actually," he continues, "my last shower was kind of gross, too. Maybe I should have gotten a pretty nurse to give me a sponge bath in the hospital."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I don't think hospital sponge baths ever work out the way you think they should."

"Like you'd know."

"I might," Spencer says, settling on the edge of Ryan's bed. "I could be the world's foremost expert on sponge baths."

Ryan laughs hard enough that he ends up bent over his knees and wheezing. Spencer rubs his back without comment and after a minute, it seems to help and Ryan looks up again, his eyes bloodshot and smile weak. That look hits Spencer right in the gut.

"Wow, you stink," Spencer says, leaning in to give Ryan's head an exaggerated sniff. Ryan actually doesn't reek too much for someone who's gone from a van shared with a bunch of dudes to a hospital to lying around flat on his back for days, but Ryan looks strangely happy about Spencer agreeing with him. "How do you stand being around yourself?"

"Don't really have a choice there," Ryan admits.

"So, do you want to keep on smelling or do you want to me to help you?"

Ryan shrugs. "You don't have to. Just spray me with Febreeze and we'll call it a day."

"I'm not that squeamish, Ryan," Spencer says.

"Sure you're not," Ryan says, and Spencer isn't sure what's going through his mind. There are probably at least ten instances Spencer can think of him being squeamish around Ryan, but it's been a long time and maybe Ryan's got the wrong idea about him. "Come on then." Ryan spins around and slides to the edge of the bed, holding an arm out. "I'll get a shower while it's on offer."

Spencer gets up and tugs Ryan to his feet. There's really no way for Ryan to get undressed without Spencer seeing anything, but he's seen enough of Ryan before and he does his level best to avoid seeing more than he can as he turns on the shower and tests the water.

"How hot do you want it?" Spencer asks, ducking his head behind the curtain.

"Is that code for do you have chills or sweats right now?"

"No, it's code for I can't read your mind, dipshit."

"Then hot enough to make it count."

Spencer toys with the faucets as Ryan pulls back the other side of the curtain and steps into the bathtub; Spencer pulls back before he really sees anything. The flash of Ryan's skin makes Spencer's cheeks flush and he's not sure why. He can just make out the silhouette of Ryan through the curtain now and he stumbles back again.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Spencer says and flees before Ryan can say anything, though he remains in Ryan's room and leaves the door open just in case.

Ryan's room is kind of a mess for someone who hasn't really been out of bed in days. There are clothes in piles all around, probably none of them clean, given the tour Ryan had just come from, but more like dirty and less dirty and blazers don't work for bed rest. Spencer makes a mental note to do laundry, if he can. He doesn't have too much with him, either, not what he brought or bought. Ryan's guitar case is open on the floor, the surface of the acoustic inside starting to gather dust already, which wouldn't happen if Ryan would just keep the thing closed. But Spencer can easily picture Ryan spending time just staring at it, willing himself better, to not forget that he's got a real life traveling and making music. A text message to Greenwald is half finished on his phone, some mix of a health progress report and maybe new lyrics. His laptop's open on the bed, a collage of pictures of Ryan sick and tired staring back at him on the screen. Spencer's not sure what's worse, Ryan's narcissism or Ryan's martyr complex, thinks there's nothing Ryan Ross likes more than seeing himself suffer, then feels bad about it when he remembers how frustrated Ryan's been with himself, with his inability to do the smallest shit. He doesn't like being helpless anymore than Spencer does.

Inside the bathroom, there's a sliding sound, like a sponge against a slick surface, then a thud and a harsh, metallic crash; Spencer's moving before he can even think about it.

Ryan winces from the bathtub floor. The pressure bar's been pulled down, the shower curtain wrapped around Ryan like a bizarre plastic costume, the water from the shower spraying out onto the tile floor.

"I don't think this shower curtain likes me," Ryan says. Spencer almost laughs but the dejected look on Ryan's face kills anything funny about Ryan's comment or the scene.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Spencer asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "If you mean is anything broken, no, I don't think so. Can't make any promises about my ego, though."

"I think that'll survive," says Spencer. He walks over to the tub and turns the tap so the water's coming out of the faucet instead of the shower, flips the stopper so the water starts to the fill the tub. He kneels and throws the curtain and rod aside. "So, I guess a bath's in order," Spencer says mildly.

Ryan shifts and draws his knees up to his chest, still not quite meeting Spencer's eyes. It's okay, though; Spencer's not totally sure he'd be okay with eye-to-eye contact and he's not sure how much of the heat he feels in his face is due to the steam in the room.

"I don't know what happened," Ryan says finally, sloshing around in the tub as Spencer turns the water off completely. He still has a washcloth clutched in his fist, which Spencer takes from him. "I was doing okay, I think, but the shower felt nice -- you know how it is when your muscles really ache and the water seems to pound it out of you?"

Spencer nods.

"I just wanted to feel that, so I was leaning up against the wall and... I don't know, I might have nodded off again. I slipped."

"Could happen to anyone," Spencer says as he grabs a bar of soap.

"Spencer, you don't have to do --"

"Shut up," Spencer says. Ryan bites his lip. "If some pretty hospital nurse can do this, so can I. This will be faster anyway."

Ryan nods. "I... I was almost done. Just couldn't reach my back and hadn't shampooed my hair yet."

Spencer nods and puts the soap back, rubbing the washcloth over Ryan's back. He tries not to look as much as possible, since Ryan is sitting there completely naked and already vulnerable, but he resists the urge to go fast and rough just to get it over with. Ryan doesn't say anything while Spencer works, but swallows hard enough that Spencer catches the movement in his throat. He mirrors it unthinkingly as he dips the cloth into the tub, wringing it out over Ryan's back and washing the soap away.

The shampoo is sitting at a corner of the bathtub, where Spencer left it, and he has to lean over Ryan to grab it, gets close enough to Ryan that he thinks he feels Ryan's head against his stomach, leaning into it. Spencer doesn't think that's deliberate, though. Ryan keeps looking straight ahead, at the tile wall and definitely not at Spencer, when Spencer pours the shampoo into his palm and starts massaging it into Ryan's scalp. Even with Spencer still determinedly not looking directly at him, he can tell that Ryan's chewing on his bottom lip, probably getting it red and swollen and...

Fuck. Spencer can hardly believe these are his thoughts right now, that he's actually having _these_ thoughts about someone he's known his whole life, about someone he'd been harboring a low-level of hostility toward for more than half a year, about someone sick and vulnerable who'd just slipped and fell in the tub not five minutes earlier. Ryan gasps suddenly, snapping Spencer out of it. He pulls his hands away.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, already beginning to get angry with himself.

Ryan turns his head and he looks ridiculous with a head full of lather, but now he's looking right at Spencer and Spencer feels trapped by it. "N-- no," Ryan says. "No. Spence, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Okay," Spencer says, and this time it's his turn to swallow hard. He climbs to his feet, just so he doesn't have to look directly at Ryan's face anymore, and gets a plastic cup from the sink. "Tilt your head back," he says, embarrassed again when Ryan immediately complies. Spencer can't look directly, can't even think about what he's doing as he keeps filling the cup in the tub over and over as he rinses the shampoo out of Ryan's hair until it's all gone.

"Thanks," Ryan says softly once Spencer's back is turned to grab Ryan a towel. He nods and helps Ryan up so he can wrap it around his waist. As Spencer drains the tub, he exhales slowly, watching the water swirl around the drain.

Spencer helps Ryan into bed and tries to get some rest himself after that. It doesn't really work. Thoughts of Ryan blinking up at him from the bathtub keep playing on repeat in his head. He's mad at himself for making the worst choices and having the worst timing on earth. How many other people would be better for him than _Ryan_? And if it had to be Ryan, how come it couldn't have been earlier? There had to have been hundreds of opportunities... thousands, maybe.

And maybe. Well, maybe Spencer had let a few of those go by without incident even if he _wanted_ an incident. Maybe he hadn't thought there was a chance between them, where Ryan ever really wanted him. Maybe he's confusing need and want now, too.

Spencer tosses and turns in bed, checking the glowing green numbers on his alarm clock and watching them change at a glacial pace.

In the adjacent room, Ryan starts coughing in his sleep. It's probably nothing; Ryan does this a few times nightly and usually he either drops off right away or Spencer hears him stumble into the bathroom to cough, running the sink after. Either way, everything usually falls silent again pretty quickly and Spencer can drift back into sleep. Not that Ryan has to worry about waking Spencer up tonight.

Tonight, though, it keeps going on and on, a deep, harsh cough that makes Spencer worry when it doesn't stop. Ryan sounds like he's choking on his own lungs, a thought that makes Spencer's stomach clench. He makes himself count to twenty before getting out of bed, not wanting Ryan to feel guilty about keeping Spencer awake and making him come running, even though Spencer doesn't really mind, has been minding less and less if he's being honest.

Ryan's sitting up in bed when Spencer comes in with water, and even though he's got a fist covering his mouth and he's coughing into it every other second, he manages to frown at Spencer in between choking.

"Oh, come on," Spencer says, handing over the glass. "I know you're not doing this on purpose."

Ryan coughs again to punctuate his annoyance, but he manages a sip of water anyway.

"Cough medicine," Ryan croaks. Spencer squints in the darkness of the room and spots the bottle on Ryan's bedside table. He pours out a dose and hands it over to Ryan, who manages to get that down. Spencer settles down on the bed and strokes his palm down Ryan's spine through his t-shirt, swallows as he remembers dragging a washcloth up and down the same place earlier.

"Breathe," Spencer orders, not sure if he's talking to Ryan or to himself, but Ryan inhales anyway and lets the breath out again shakily. "See, not so hard. Drink some water."

Ryan nods and slowly drinks about half the glass. Spencer keeps rubbing his back throughout, doesn't plan on stopping until Ryan shrinks away from it or gives any indication that he's uncomfortable.

But Ryan doesn't. He puts the glass down and draws his knees in and rests his head on them, but if anything that just gives Spencer a better angle, so he can press in harder, deeper.

"I thought you hated me," Ryan says eventually and Spencer is surprised to hear it in the quiet of the room. Maybe the cold medicine is starting to kick in, if Ryan's sleepy blinking is any indication. "For the band," he adds unnecessarily.

"I didn't," Spencer says. "Don't," he amends. "I was really mad, but not just at you."

"Jon?"

Spencer shrugs. He watches his own hand slide across Ryan's shoulderblades. "Yes and no," he says. "The situation was fairly shitty all around and I hated the way we ignored each other toward the end. I don't know, maybe I thought you were selfish, not trying to work with us more."

"I am," Ryan admits. "I'm a greedy bastard."

"Like I don't know that."

"See, like this." Ryan lifts his hand and waves it vaguely. "I don't know if I would have done it for you. I wouldn't have even done it for me. A week at home and I would have been trying to go out again -- not tour, just out, just to convince myself that I was all better. You're like my feelgood warden."

Spencer digs his knuckles into the ridges of Ryan's spine; he could do it viciously and thinks that Ryan would let him get away with it now but he doesn't want to. Any white-hot anger he'd felt toward Ryan has long since dissipated and he feels... settled. Oddly content. He has no idea if it's a good thing for a drummer to ever let go of all his aggression, but Spencer's adaptable. He's just looking for a way to be happy.

"We finished the album," Spencer says. "I know it took us awhile, but it's probably the best thing either of us has ever done."

Ryan doesn't reply right away, long enough that Spencer wonders what's going through his mind or maybe just fell back asleep. "I want to hear it," he says eventually.

"You can, when we get back. Brendon's editing."

In the commotion of Ryan collapsing and the trip to Denver and his weird, never-dying want for helping Ryan, he's barely let himself remember his own life. But it's there, always in the background, and he'll be going back to it as soon as Ryan's well enough to leave.

That'll probably be soon, he realizes with some surprise. Ryan makes a strangled noise and shrinks away from Spencer's hand, which shakes Spencer from his thoughts.

"Careful," Ryan warns.

 _I'm trying to be_ , Spencer thinks. It's not working very well.

Ryan yawns hugely, cracking his jaw and slides down onto the bed, curling onto his side again.

"Sleepy?" Spencer asks, covering his mouth to suppress his own yawn. Ryan nods. "Okay," says Spencer, "I'll go back to my room."

Ryan pauses for a beat and then says, "Why? You're already here. We can share. We've done it before."

They have -- lots of times, because they were too small to worry about it, or out of laziness or intoxication or lack of space or something else that they could blame on laziness or intoxication or lack of space. Now, though, there's no excuse.

"Oh, Spencer, come on," Ryan says, sounding sleepy and bossy and exasperated -- exactly like himself. "Turn off your mind."

Spencer bites his bottom lip and makes himself get under Ryan's pile of blankets. The bed is so big that they can sleep side-by-side without touching, but Ryan doesn't seem to be taking great pains to keep it that way. His wrist brushes against Spencer's elbow, his foot knocks into Spencer's ankle. Spencer expects to find himself blinking up into the dark again for a long time, but the last thing he remembers is Ryan making a contented sound before falling asleep.

+

Spencer wakes up when the first rays of light are starting to stream through the curtains. Ryan curls up behind him, his arm wrapped around Spencer's middle, his leg flung over Spencer's thigh, his breath warm and steady against the back of Spencer's neck.

It's far too early to get out of bed, Spencer decides, sliding his hand over Ryan's and closing his eyes again.

+

When he wakes up a second time, he's alone. Spencer isn't sure if Ryan has just rolled away at first; he flings a hand back and finds the spot next to him warm but empty. Something in his chest flips unpleasantly and he frowns at himself for his disappointment, but climbs out of bed anyway.

His growling stomach eventually propels him toward the kitchen. Ryan is talking somewhere, his voice drifting down the hall. Spencer realizes he's on the phone, unless Ryan now makes a habit of addressing an invisible Jon, and he knows that he should make his steps heavier or clear his throat and make his presence known, but he stops and keeps himself just out of view, barely remembering to breathe.

"No, as soon as possible," Ryan says. His throat sounds scratchy, like he just woke up or it's still hard to talk. "It's not that early, stop whining. This isn't me freaking out and you don't know what you're talking about... Jon, I know what the fucking doctor said; I was there! You know I really can't hang out here forever. We have shit we both wanted to do, do you even remember that? Do you want to be stuck at home forever?"

Spencer feels sickly guilty, but he creeps closer, trying to hear even better.

"Holding patterns suck," Ryan sighs. "Yeah, I know you're handling everything. No, Spencer's good. I can't... no, I know..." Spencer startles when Ryan laughs, sudden and bitter. " _What_? _Nothing_. Nothing's going on. You're ridiculous." Ryan pauses. "I do not lack credibility. Your mom lacks credibility. Fuck off."

This conversation is frustrating. Spencer guesses Ryan's had enough of him being his feelgood warden or whatever stupid thing he'd said last night. It's okay to be grateful to Spencer's face, but as soon as Spencer's out of earshot -- or at least so Ryan thinks -- he's trying to book out of there as soon as possible. Spencer wishes he knew what it was, and feels sickly right that it's because Ryan now knows he and Brendon finished their album. Spencer can almost see the wheels turning in Ryan's head, his competitive streak waking up with the sun.

Ryan says, "Fine, Jon. Jesus, _fine_ , you win. I'll give myself more time." He sighs heavily. "But if I go crazy, I'm putting the blame on you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Spencer starts walking again just as Ryan hangs up, making sure to tap out a steady rhythm against the hall wall.

"I'm going out today," Spencer announces loudly before he even reaches the sitting room. Ryan is curled up in a corner of the couch, his eyes wide and surprised as he stares at Spencer, dark rings circling just underneath. He still has his phone in his hand and looks so small and lost that it takes everything Spencer has to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat.

"Oh," is all Ryan says.

"I'll have my phone if you need me. You know the cell signal's fine here, but I doubt you'll need to call," says Spencer in as breezy a tone as he can manage. "You seem like you're feeling so much better -- already up and out of bed."

"Do you... do you know when you'll be back?"

Spencer shrugs. "Sooner or later, I guess. I'm just feeling kind of cooped up being stuck here with you." He smiles, showing all his teeth.

"Oh," Ryan says again. He looks down into his lap. "I made coffee," he offers.

Spencer shoots him a thumbs-up. "Hey thanks, man," he replies and almost winces at himself. Fake casual is a lot harder than it looks and he can't escape the room fast enough.

It's a half-hour drive into the main part of town and he tries to convince himself that Ryan's okay without him. He almost believes it, too; Ryan had actually made a pretty decent cup of coffee and had left a box of Lucky Charms on the table. Spencer supposes that's his idea of cooking breakfast. There aren't any major episodes as Spencer rushes around trying to get ready. Ryan doesn't move from his spot on the couch, texting back and forth with someone -- Jon or Alex or maybe one of Ryan's many friends whom Spencer's never met -- and muffling one or two coughs into his sleeves. Spencer leaves the bungalow's second set of keys on the kitchen counter and checks his phone ten times between the front door and the rental car, just to make sure it's still working.

He's not exactly sure what he's doing when he gets there. First he walks around the main drag, popping into touristy knick-knack shops where he shakes up snowglobes and tries on baseball caps with built-in beer cozies and straws. Then Spencer goes to the tiny grocery store and stocks up on supplies, hoping that it's cold enough outside that the milk will keep in the backseat of the car until he gets back home-- to Ryan-- to the rented house, whatever. Spencer flips through the racks in a record store and doesn't buy anything. He winds in and out of stores he has no interest in, women's clothing stores and shops stuffed with ski supplies, though the snowboards intrigue him briefly.

Eventually he finds himself inside a bar, even though it's still pretty early in the day. But there are a few people inside and Spencer understands from the mountain lodge decor, big dining room tables, and the dressed-up wait staff that this isn't a place where a lot of people are drinking to get drunk at 2 pm. Which is good for Spencer, considering. He doesn't know if he'd be able to resist the temptation right now.

He sits at the bar and orders cheese fries and whatever's on tap. They actually card him, which hardly ever happens, the beard doing its job of making him seem more mature than he usually feels, but Spencer hands it over and snorts when the bartender double-takes at Spencer's age.

Another person joins him at the bar just as Spencer's finishing up his fries and getting a second beer. It's a guy, skinny, kind of tall, nice mouth, and he gives Spencer an appreciative glance that lingers long enough that Spencer feels obligated to lift his glass and smile back.

Spencer considers it. It's more idle fantasy than him trying to work up the nerve; usually Spencer is pretty good at going for whatever he wants with a few notable exceptions. He's not shy about that kind of thing and his success rate has always been pretty good. There haven't been many guys who have come after him -- not many girls either. Spencer doesn't know if he comes off as unapproachable or -- with guys -- really straight or what, but it's probably because Spencer's impatient and has no time for the back-and-forth, not when there are so many other things worth doing.

But this guy. Maybe he'd do the work, ask Spencer if he could buy him a drink, see if he could take Spencer back to his place (not like Spencer could bring anyone anywhere since he lives three states over and the place where he's staying is currently occupied by... well). It's a nice thought, Spencer thinks, the idea of someone taking over, taking control, at least for a little while.

Spencer's so tired.

The guy is still watching, carefully glancing from his drink to Spencer whenever he thinks Spencer isn't looking. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer sees the guy open his mouth.

That, of course, is when Spencer's phone rings.

Spencer gives the bar guy with the nice mouth an apologetic shrug and reaches into his pocket to answer. It could be Ryan with an emergency. Anything could have happened alone; Ryan isn't too coordinated under the best circumstances, and it hasn't been _that_ long since he'd collapsed on stage. Clawing panic starts up in Spencer's throat until he realizes that it's not Ryan but Jon.

"Hello?" Spencer answers, sounding oddly breathless considering he hadn't been doing anything.

"Hey Spencer," Jon replies. "Are you okay?"

Spencer wishes everyone would stop asking him that. "Yeah, fine," he says. "What's up?"

Jon says, "You tell me. I've fielded a hysterical phone call from Ryan demanding to get back on the road again right away, even though when I talked to him yesterday he seemed pretty okay with taking things slow and letting me handle business. _Then_ after I calm him down, I get fifty text messages about how you stormed out of the house and how he's all alone and doesn't know where you put the ramen. Do you know how hard fifty texts are on the thumbs, Spencer? So... any ideas?"

"No," Spencer says sullenly. Jon already knows how petty and competitive Ryan can be. Besides, the lines are drawn and Jon is on the other side. Even in his head, Spencer's reluctant to call them enemy lines, but that's sort of what they are.

"Oh, so you didn't leave the dude with pneumonia alone in a remote cabin? Are you playing hide-and-seek and Ryan just forgot? I know he's pretty easily distracted."

Spencer sighs. "Jesus, Jon, lay off. No. I told Ryan that me and Bren finished out album and this morning I caught him wigging out on the phone to you. I came to some conclusions based on past lessons learned."

"Really," Jon says. He sounds like he's about to reach through the line and strangle Spencer and that's kind of unfair. "Because Ryan mentioned that. I remember Ryan mentioning that because he sounded happy about getting to hear it once it was out of editing because that means we might be okay with each other finally. _Then_ he wigged out about being a burden on everyone."

Spencer freezes. "He said that?"

" _Yes_ ," Jon insists. "Now are you going to tell me why you abandoned your patient after dragging him alone into the mountains to recover?"

"Because I am deeply, deeply stupid," Spencer admits. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Jon says and immediately sounds much happier. "If you two killed each other up there, Brendon and I would have to form an all-new third band, and I just don't know how accepting the fans would be of The Young, Panicking Veins at the Disco after your untimely deaths."

Spencer laughs. "Not very, I hope," he says. "I think I'll head back now."

"Good to hear it," Jon says. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing good, I promise. Take care of yourself."

Spencer hangs up and throws some money at the bar, hightailing out of there and trying not to be too happy over the disappointed look he gets from his cute stranger. Things work out the way they do for a reason, Spencer reminds himself, which may be corny but it's gotten him through some rough patches before.

He pulls into the driveway a little while later and goes back into the house. Spencer isn't sure if he owes Ryan an apology -- he's willing to admit that maybe he freaked out just a little over last night, but so did Ryan if he's reading between Jon's lines correctly, and it's not like they'd fought.

Mostly Spencer just wants to see Ryan. A lot. Possibly way more than he remembers wanting that in a very long time.

The sitting room and kitchen are empty when Spencer goes inside and puts away the groceries. He stops and listens for Ryan and hears him in his room, easily attuned to him after nights of paying attention to his sleep. Ryan's breathing sounds labored, deep and ragged, and Spencer has a moment of _oh shit oh shit I shouldn't have left_ before he tears down the hall and bursts through Ryan's door.

Ryan is fine. Ryan's not choking in his sleep or in a heap near the bathtub. Ryan is on his bed, shirtless, his sweatpants pulled down around his knees and his cock out, long fingers wrapped around himself and moving in sure strokes.

" _Spencer_?" Ryan gasps as the door bangs open and comes all over his stomach.

"Fuck," Spencer says, stuck to the spot. "Fuck, Ry, I'm sorry," Spencer chokes out, managing to look away from Ryan and get his feet moving again.

He flees to his own room, shuts the door and locks it behind him. It's a little cowardly, but Spencer can't deal right now. Later, maybe, he can laugh it off as a joke, tease Ryan about finally meeting his new girlfriend. Not now, though; not with Ryan's flushed face and open mouth burned into his brain.

Spencer's hip vibrates with a text message from Brendon. _If you're going to be on your computer in the next few hours let me know._

 _Be right there_ , he sends back.

Spencer stares at the door a little nervously, expecting Ryan to come busting through it at any minute, but nothing happens. It makes sense, though; _Spencer_ wasn't the one caught jerking off and nearly naked. Not that that makes Spencer any less embarrassed by it.

Spencer pushes that away and gets out his laptop, emailing Brendon to let him know he's online. Brendon replies, telling him to get on iChat and soon they're videoconferencing as Brendon works, excitedly sending Spencer file after file so he can see how their edits are coming.

They sound great, really, really great, and Spencer feels his secondhand mortification melting into excitement over their music. Spencer suggests changes here and there and Brendon mostly agrees with them. They fine-tune the mixes until they're both happy with the results. God, sometimes he really fucking loves his job.

"I love this part," Brendon later tells him enthusiastically as Spencer plays the bridge on what they think is track four. He bops his head along with the bass line.

"You love all the parts," Spencer says.

Brendon shrugs. "Guilty," he says. "I guess I got into the right business."

Spencer grins because so did he.

They work for hours, well into the night, and Ryan hasn't interrupted at all, hasn't even made a sound as far as Spencer knows. Spencer only realizes how late it is when Brendon's stomach growls and Spencer's answers. They both laugh and Brendon says, "I guess that's my cue."

"Yeah, mine too," Spencer says. "I should probably make sure Ryan's okay."

"How's he feeling anyway?" Brendon says.

Spencer swallows, thinking about Ryan spread out on his bed again. "Better," he squeaks and clears his throat. "He's sleeping less often and hasn't needed as many pain meds. Plus, his cough doesn't sound so much like..."

"Imminent death?"

"Yeah, that." Spencer grins.

"Tell him I said hi."

"I will."

Brendon waves goodbye and they disconnect.

Spencer plans on grabbing a snack and, if he's feeling brave, considers looking in on Ryan and seeing if he needs anything, too, but Ryan has always been good at derailing Spencer's plans. Tonight is no different. Ryan is sitting on the floor next to Spencer's door, looking up when Spencer comes out. He's noticeably more dressed than he was before and Spencer can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed by that.

Seriously, he thinks to himself, who does he think he's kidding? Spencer is disappointed and scared and feels very stupid when he gets a look at Ryan's face and finds the same jumble of emotions reflected back at him.

"Hey, Ryan," he says, offering him a hand up. Ryan takes it, struggling to his feet.

"Hey, Spence. The songs sound really good through a door. That could work as a unique marketing angle."

Spencer laughs softly.

"How was your day?"

"Weird," Spencer admits. He hasn't let go of Ryan's hand. "Yours?"

Ryan half-smiles. "Weird. About to get weirder," he says, and steps in and kisses Spencer.

Spencer kisses back and barely feels it when his back hits the wall behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex is going to laugh at Ryan. Alex has already spent most of the day laughing at him because he called Alex in a panic after Spencer left and Jon stopped responding to his texts, but Alex is really going to laugh at him once he finds out why Ryan really had been freaking out all day. If he doesn't know already. The one thing Ryan hates about making new friends is he keeps making ones who can read him like a book. It'd be really nice if he could graduate from _The Poky Little Puppy_ one of these days. Maybe something at an eighth grade reading level.

Because...

Because this is sickeningly, amazingly easy.

After an entire day spent angsting over Spencer trying to figure out what their weird vibe in the bathroom meant; what sleeping in the same bed meant; what Spencer furiously storming out just to storm back in hours later while Ryan had been jacking off, only this time wearing a completely different expression meant; Spencer's mouth is against his and his fingers are twisted up with Ryan's shirt and he makes desperate sounds when Ryan's fingers skim up and down his sides. Ryan wishes he were back to his old self right now, wanting to take his time without tiring out easily, even though he's pretty sure Spencer will laugh at his A-game once he sees it. That doesn't mean Ryan doesn't want to _try_.

Spencer leans back against the wall and wraps his arms around Ryan, spreading his legs and pulling Ryan in closer to line up their hips. Ryan whimpers into Spencer's mouth, all thoughts of how easy this is melting into thoughts of _why did we wait so long_? He breaks their kiss to press his lips to Spencer's beard, his neck, his ear. The last one makes Spencer gasp and pant, "We should... we should find a bed and go to it."

Ryan grins. "Very smooth," he says.

"We're not," Spencer says. He presses his palm against the side of Ryan's throat, rubbing his thumb along Ryan's Adam's apple, making Ryan hiss and bite his lip when he presses down. "We're the furthest thing from it."

"Come on," Ryan says, pushing Spencer back into his room. They kiss on the bed, Ryan on his back, Spencer in between his spread legs and moving slowly. It's lazy and open, unhurried like they have all the time in the world. It's weirdly familiar, and unlike anything Ryan can remember about sex or relationships, and he's had his fair share of both.

Spencer props himself up on his hands and looks down, letting his hair hang as he presses kisses to Ryan's face. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Ryan says, and it's the closest thing to the truth he's felt in weeks. The cough's still there, and he's still so so tired all the time, but the muscle aches have dissipated and the fever's gone. He doesn't feel like he wants to die. It's a nice change.

Spencer bites the side of Ryan's neck and Ryan's hips jerk suddenly. "How are you _really_ feeling?"

"Fine," Ryan repeats. His voice is low and rough. "Fine and turned on and a little tired."

"Thought so," Spencer says, rolling off of him. Ryan makes a protesting noise and tries pulling him back. Spencer doesn't go far, though. "Seriously, did you forget you fell asleep in the shower yesterday?" he asks, his lips moving against Ryan's ear. "Yeah, I know you can stay awake long enough to come -- you know, considering. But I don't want to go fast."

Ryan swallows hard. "No?"

"No," Spencer confirms. "I want to take all the time I need, I want all of your focus on me, and I'm willing to wait. Okay?"

"Okay," Ryan agrees immediately because he's not stupid. He's also reconsidering the sickeningly, amazingly easy thing because Spencer is a great big tease, but grins to himself and rolls onto his side to briefly grope Spencer through his jeans, gratified when Spencer gasps and arches up. "Can we just make out some more right now?"

" _Yes_ ," Spencer agrees fervently.

+

 ** _thisisryanross_** cough cough go away don't come back another day  
 ** _thisisryanross_** seriously I mean that

+

The next few days pass in a happily frustrating blur. Spencer, as it turns out, likes ambushes, often appearing out of nowhere and pressing Ryan up against counters to steal kisses or walking up from behind so can bite Ryan's ear. They fall asleep together each night, and every morning when Ryan wakes up with Spencer's dick pressed up hard against his back or, more embarrassingly, Ryan humping Spencer's thigh in his sleep, he says a prayer willing for the swift death of germs. That's a pretty big concession for someone who's never considered himself religious.

And little by little, Ryan feels it happening. He finishes his course antibiotics, the tightness in his chest loosens, and he doesn't need cough medicine to get him through the night. His temperature returns to normal and he isn't waking up at three in the morning, broken out in a cold sweat. Ryan is on the mend, and he has his friends to thank for that. Especially Spencer.

+

 ** _thisisryanross_** The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated #twaintweet

+

"You look healthy," Z says suspiciously, peering at him through her webcam. Ryan blushes and ducks his head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. "Healthy _and_ happy," she adds accusingly.

Ryan asks, "Why are you saying that like I'm a criminal?"

Z shrugs. "Because usually you're an angst machine even at your best, and you've been shut up in the mountains for days and days. Remember? The internet still thinks you're dead."

"Oh yeah," Ryan says. "Who do they think is updating my Twitter anyway?"

"Greenwald. They're calling him The Puppetmaster so he updated his profile picture to him with a marionette that looks like you."

"Creepy," Ryan says and shudders.

Z grins. "I bought it for him."

"Yeah, well, you're creepy too."

"I just miss my friend," Z says, making big eyes and batting her lashes at him. "Who would know his untimely death and the cover-up afterward would bring about my psychotic break. Tragic, really."

Ryan snorts. "Like that's the only thing that makes you tragic."

"Look who's talking!" she exclaims. "It's tragic that you think you're doing a good job at distracting me from finding out why you're so fucking chipper."

Ryan's phone rings then and he breathes out a sigh of relief. He stretches over to reach it, holding it up to show her the screen. "Sorry, can't talk anymore. Jon Walker, my good friend and bandmate, is on the phone so I definitely have to take this. Later, Z." He shuts his laptop lid and cuts off her complaints mid-sentence, just catching Jon before the call goes to voice mail. "Hey, Jon," he greets.

"So Ryan," Jon starts.

"So Jon," Ryan says, mimicking Jon's tone.

"You know how most of the business stuff is usually handled by you for a reason?" Jon asks. "Like how I get frustrated very easily or cave or just get bored by it?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "The business isn't interesting to anyone. Spencer was telling me about these epic meetings he keeps having to go to for their album -- well, until we came here, I mean. I'm sure you're fine."

Jon sighs. "Okay, so not so much," he says.

"What does that mean?"

If Jon sold their entire catalog for some Cubs tickets and a bottle of Jack Daniels, they're definitely going to have words when Ryan gets back.

"It's just... are you guys coming back soon?"

That's a good question. Ryan's definitely well enough to get around on his own again, but the thing with Spencer is still new and tentative enough that he doesn't actually know what will happen once they get back to their lives again. Working within the confines of their real lives made their bands break up before and made them declare over and over what close friends they were while barely speaking to each other. Ryan doesn't really know Spencer's intentions or expectations and he's... he's definitely worried. Even if the physical stuff tapers off, the idea of losing Spencer again is unsettling.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Jon says impatiently.

Ryan shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm here. Totally. I guess pretty soon?

Jon lets out a relieved exhale. "Oh good. So you won't mind knowing that I got our record company off my back by agreeing to a comeback-makeup tour, covering all the dates we missed and honoring those ticket sales, plus adding ten more."

"Who has a comeback tour while still promoting their first album?" Ryan wonders.

"Us, I guess. Let's be fair; we haven't exactly done anything traditionally here," Jon says and Ryan's inclined to agree. "Okay, but here's the catch: it starts in three weeks."

"Three weeks, huh?" muses Ryan. "Yeah... yeah, I guess we can make that happen with rehearsal time," he says, feeling surer about it. Whatever the thing is between him and Spencer, he can't pretend like he wants to stay away from the music or the road again, especially when Jon and his first tour ended so disastrously. Ryan's still feels like he's got a lot to prove, both to himself and to everyone else. "I'll talk to Spencer tonight."

"Good," Jon says. "I take it he hasn't stormed off again. You two are good?"

Ryan feels a blush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks. "Yeah, Jon," he says, managing to keep his tone steady. "We're good."

+

Ryan finds Spencer in front of the TV, laughing at something on the Discovery Channel about baby polar bears. It's really sweet, actually, both the bears and Spencer, and Ryan finds himself drawn to it. Spencer doesn't even really acknowledge his presence other to lift up his arm so he can drop it around Ryan's shoulders when he sits down. Together they watch the little bears roll around in the snow and escape from an avalanche. After about ten minutes, Spencer abruptly shuts it off.

"Hey," Ryan says, wrinkling up his forehead.

"Hey nothing," Spencer replies. "You've been jiggling your leg since you sat down and I wouldn't mind it only your freak foot keeps knocking into my knee. Spill whatever it is that you want to say."

"How do you know I have anything to say?"

Spencer just raises his eyebrows.

Ryan caves. "Fine. Jon called before. We're going back on tour in three weeks. Jon and me," he says carefully. "We have to go back to Los Angeles as soon as possible."

"So," Spencer says thoughtfully. He rubs his beard and everything. "Does that mean you're fully recovered?"

"I think I am?" Ryan says slowly. "I made a doctor's appointment back home in a week. You know, a follow-up checkup to make sure."

Spencer chews his bottom lip. "You're fully recovered and actually made a doctor's appointment for yourself without anyone berating you first? You feel healthy enough to go back home and resume your life?"

Ryan looks at Spencer like he's gone crazy and thinks maybe it's not so great to be stuck alone in a mountain cabin with him. "Yes, Spence. That's exactly what I said."

Without warning, Spencer stands up and walks out of the room.

"What the fuck?" Ryan mutters, wondering what the hell just happened. He knew there'd been a chance Spencer would be sad and disappointed, but he didn't expect him to shut down and leave. Ryan is completely baffled.

"Are you coming?" Spencer's voice drifts down the hall. "Because I'm on your bed and you have ten seconds before I start taking my clothes off without your help."

Ryan blinks and takes off.

Actually, Spencer isn't on Ryan's bed yet because he's a dirty liar, so he totally deserves it when Ryan rounds the corner into his room and smacks right into him standing in the doorway.

"Fuck," Ryan complains, rubbing his forehead. "Are you trying to land me back in the hospital?"

Spencer shakes his head and holds Ryan by his shoulders. "Sorry," he says.

Ryan sighs hugely. "I guess I can find a way to forgive you if you make it up to me."

"Got anything in mind?" Spencer says. He's smiling and his eyes are bright with challenge. That's always been one of Ryan's favorite looks on him and he decides he likes it even more in this context. Ryan nods and covers Spencer's hand with his, leaning in to press their mouths together. He shuffles in closers to line up their bodies, gratified when Spencer huffs into his mouth.

"How about that?" Ryan asks, the sound of his voice vibrating against Spencer's mouth.

"Good start," Spencer confirms, raising his arms when Ryan skims his hands over his waist and pushes up the hem of his shirt. Ryan lifts it over Spencer's head and throws it aside, putting his palm in the middle of Spencer's chest and pushing him down onto the bed.

They kiss again and it's a little awkward as Ryan kneewalks forward and Spencer scuttles back, but that's preferable to separating again as far as Ryan is concerned. Anyway, he's too busy trying to touch Spencer wherever he can -- his shoulder, his collarbone, his stomach, his hip. Ryan is a restless mover in bed; there's always too much to look at and touch, especially when he's just getting familiar with another person's body and he likes the effect it's having on Spencer. Spencer's watching him intently, like he's seeing Ryan for the first time and Ryan guesses that on some level he kind of is. They've been a lot of things to each other over the years: friends, secret keepers, bandmates, rivals, even occasional enemies, but even all the stolen kisses of the past few days couldn't completely prepare them for this.

"I'm feeling much better, Spencer," Ryan says, pleased by Spencer's startled inhale when Ryan drags a fingernail over his nipple. He slips his hand down further, tugging open the button on Spencer's jeans and pulling down the zipper, urging him to lift his hips so he can get them off. "Thanks to you."

"I didn't do anything other than give you a break," Spencer says. "Jon was going to cancel the tour, you would have gone home and gotten better. I wanted to control things even though I didn't need to. It was selfish and I'm stupid."

"Shut up," Ryan orders. Spencer presses his lips together. "You helped it go faster," he insists. "I already told you that." Ryan rubs his palms over Spencer's thighs, smiling when Spencer shifts, trying to get Ryan's hands closer to his dick. Ryan's too busy just looking for now, though. Of course he's seen Spencer in various states of undress, but only for a second at a time and never like this. He's not wasting the opportunity. Ryan leans forward to drop another kiss to Spencer's mouth, swiping his tongue over his lower lip. "Be gracious when someone compliments you."

Spencer snorts and pushes his hands underneath Ryan's shirt to get it over his head and off. "Look who's talking."

"I'm always gracious," Ryan says grandly. He can tell that Spencer's about to laugh at him, but he doesn't give him a chance, reaching out to wrap his hand around Spencer's dick and giving it an experimental pull. Spencer's reaction is incredible; his eyes widen and his gaze goes unfocused. Ryan nods to himself and bends over, just enough to swipe his tongue over the head. Spencer curses and pushes up.

"Have you ever done this?" Spencer chokes out, punctuating his question with a moan when Ryan licks him again.

Ryan shrugs. "Not much, but a little. I've tried a lot of things. You?" He bends his head and this time he sucks instead of just licking, not really expecting Spencer to answer once he makes a hissing sound and reaches out to push his fingers into Ryan's hair. But Spencer manages to say, "More from this side," which makes Ryan laugh around Spencer's cock. He likes that, likes laughing in bed and likes getting to do that even though it's their first time.

He tries to go down further, pressing his tongue flat against Spencer's dick and likes the result that has too, Spencer's fingers flexing against his scalp and the way he exhales raggedly when Ryan's fingers trail up the inside of his thigh and press behind his balls.

Spencer doesn't make a whole lot of noise, though Ryan wishes he would. He likes hearing his name, likes praise and direction; Ryan makes a mental note to tell Spencer for next time and shocks himself by being so sure that there will be a next time.

Ryan reaches back, carefully lifting one of Spencer's hands from his hair and circles his wrist with his fingers. When he glances at the head of the bed, Spencer is watching him curiously as Ryan eases his mouth off Spencer's cock and leans back smiling sheepishly.

"Told you I don't have much practice," he says, guiding Spencer's hand to his dick, wet and shiny from Ryan's spit, and keeps his hand over Spencer's as he folds his fingers around. "I'm evening things up," Ryan says, urging Spencer's fist up and down until Spencer's picked up the rhythm. Ryan watches Spencer's throat bob up and down, the way his hand moves tentatively at first, going faster and tightening his grip when Ryan licks his lips and meets his eyes. "Since you got to see me and all."

"I didn't get to see you for long," Spencer says breathlessly. "I don't know how fair this is."

"Not very," Ryan agrees. "Did you want me to...?" he begins, but Spencer is already nodding and flicking his eyes down to Ryan's crotch.

Ryan pushes down his pants just enough to get out his dick, really liking the way Spencer can't stop looking from Ryan's mouth to his cock and back again. Ryan's mouth feels swollen and warm from sucking Spencer's dick and he wonders how red it is, darting his tongue out to lick it. Spencer lets out a small sound and starts jacking himself faster, and Ryan widens his eyes, sucking two fingers into his mouth to wet them quickly, not wanting to waste any time before getting his hand around his dick.

"You," Spencer says and has to shake his head and breathe before he can start again. "You look so fucking good like that, Ryan."

Ryan whimpers a little and starts moving faster, squeezing harder, trying to match Spencer's rhythm but not quite able to keep up. He knows he's not going to last long like this, but judging by Spencer's expression, that's probably okay.

"I couldn't stop looking when I walked in on you," Spencer continues. Ryan pants and falls forward on the bed, bringing his face within inches of Spencer's. "Ryan, I wanted... for a long time, longer than I even realized..."

"I came when I saw you," Ryan blurts out suddenly. "I didn't think I was close, I was only trying to blow off some steam, and then you walked in and I was coming just like that."

"Shit," Spencer says and shudders. He lifts his free hand and presses it to the back of Ryan's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. It's messy and dirty, Spencer's tongue fucking Ryan's mouth and forcing his jaw wide. Ryan feels Spencer coming underneath him, shaking and moaning into Ryan's mouth, and Ryan follows quickly after, his dick pressed between their bodies and trapped in the tight circle of his fist.

Ryan falls on top of Spencer a few seconds later, still breathing hard. He groans. "You're all sweaty," he complains.

Spencer shoves at his arm. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I get some sweat on you? Did you want to trade that for the time you coughed right in my face?"

"That was an accident," Ryan says grumpily. "I can't be held accountable for my actions when I was sick."

"Sure you can. I plan on holding you accountable all the time." Spencer curls into Ryan's body and presses a kiss to the top of Ryan's head and, despite himself, Ryan smiles. "You know what?" Spencer asks.

"What?"

"I think I'm ready to go home, too."

+

 ** _thisisryanross_** click your heels three times

 ** _TheSpencerSmith_** @thisisryanross Been there, done that haha

+

It takes two days, but they make all of the arrangements for checkout and going back home. Ryan even checks that all of his utilities have stayed on in his absence because if he's heading back to his normal life, he wants to make sure to at least have hot water. It's probably time he didn't rely on other people for everything. Maybe it's weird that it took having to rely on someone else for something out of his control to see that, but Ryan's never done things in a logical way.

"Ready to go?" Spencer says. He's standing by the front door and dangling the keys to the bungalow, having just packed the last of their stuff into the car. Ryan had tried to help, but Spencer put him on light duty. He guesses he can save up his strength (such that it is) for loading up tour vans again.

Ryan nods and looks around for any signs that they'd been there, but can't really see any. But that's okay because they'd left their mark anyway, at least in their own memories, cheesy as that idea is.

Spencer turns the combination on the safety deposit box and stores their keys inside. They're driving the whole way back to L.A. together instead of turning in the rental car and buying plane tickets. It means more time alone, more time before facing the reality of their lives again. It also means two days of driving with a stop, which means a hotel night. Maybe Ryan's not completely ready for a return to the real world. He has to ease himself into it.

They pull into a hotel just outside Cedar City as night falls. Spencer had joked about pushing through to Vegas so they can stomp around at home but Ryan quickly vetoed the idea. Ryan wants food and rest and time alone with Spencer. Plus, as great as Vegas can be when you're a tourist and not a bored resident, there's really nothing there for him anymore. At least Spencer still has some roots there, but Ryan has nothing but exaggerated memories and besides, one of the best things to ever come out of home is sitting right next to him.

"Brendon's going to be surprised when you tell him about us," Ryan says, testing out the bed. It's covered in a polyester bedspread that feels itchy underneath Ryan's palms, but other than that it's soft and comfortable. Spencer falls backwards in a trust fall freefall, his spread arm passing safely over Ryan's head just before he hits the mattress and bounces. "If you tell him about us," Ryan continues.

Spencer rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand, curving his body around where Ryan sits. "Will he?" Spencer asks in a tone that suggests he already knows the answer. "I think you underestimate him a lot."

Ryan shrugs. That's probably fair. He doesn't mean to, not really, not always at least; it's just that even after years of having been in the same band with him, Ryan forgets how much Brendon keeps inside. It's hard to reconcile sometimes with the outward persona. Ryan's the one who wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Will Jon be surprised, do you think?" Spencer asks, and Ryan laughs.

"I'd be more surprised if he hasn't guessed already. We were both acting like complete weirdoes for awhile there." Ryan shifts back, kicking off his shoes with such force that one of them bangs against a wall, and stretches out on the bed next to Spencer. He tries to shove Spencer over, but Spencer stays close instead and that really isn't an awful alternative, even if he seems intent on staring at Ryan's face. That's not really awful, either. "Hey," Ryan says, skimming his hand down Spencer's side.

Spencer's mouth spreads into a slow smile, and Ryan has to kiss it, leaving his mouth relaxed so Spencer can lick his way inside. This isn't going to get old for a long time, Ryan knows it; he also knows he has a habit of feeling things intensely and letting them fizzle out quick, but it's hard for him to think of anything other than a slow burn when it comes to Spencer.

Ryan ends the kiss, soothing the loss by tugging Spencer's lip between his teeth and reaching up to rub his thumb over the bite. Spencer kisses the pad of his finger. "Hey," he says again, carefully watching Spencer's face for a reaction. "I want you to fuck me."

Spencer doesn't disappoint. His eyelids flutter and he makes a small questioning sound, which Ryan immediately understands. Before they left the cabin, they took advantage of every horizontal surface and found very creative uses for their hands and mouths and complimentary lotions. Ryan certainly feels more secure in his blowjob skills now, but they haven't done this just yet. Surprise, surprise, when hiding yourself away in the mountains because you're recovering from pneumonia, you don't always think to stock up on condoms. And Ryan can't make any guarantees about himself so he wouldn't risk otherwise -- sometimes he's not even sure where he's been.

"When we stopped for lunch, there was a drugstore," Ryan explains. "I ran in while you were in the bathroom and I guess your line was long because I beat you back." He kisses Spencer's chin. "Decided to surprise you instead."

"Romantic," Spencer deadpans, but Ryan knows he sort of means it, the way his hands go to Ryan's shirt and start pulling on the buttons. "This was so much easier when you were in pajamas all the time," he grumbles.

"What, I'm not worth the work?" Ryan asks, taking pity on Spencer and undoing the buttons himself. "Even after I offer my ass to you, I see how it is."

"Shut the fuck up, Ross," Spencer growls and Ryan grins because that's exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. He stops grinning a second later when Spencer's nose brushes against the side of his neck and he bites down at the juncture of Ryan's neck and shoulder, making Ryan gasp. He likes biting and now that Spencer knows this, he's been taking advantage of that fact constantly.

"Be right back," Ryan promises, jumping off the bed and rummaging through one of his bags until he finds the bag from the drugstore, throwing it onto the bed. It lands on Spencer's stomach and Spencer sticks his tongue out at him before digging through it. Ryan shrugs out of his shirt and undoes his belt, shimmying out of his pants. He considers leaving his socks on for a second before taking those off, too. They're nice socks -- individually nice socks, since they don't match -- and Ryan's feet get cold easily, especially since the fever tapered off, but he thinks it'll be harder for him to get leverage if Spencer fucks him on his back. Well, he assumes, at least, since he's never been on this side of things, but he's already decided not to tell Spencer that for now. It's not like Spencer would ever let him get hurt anyway.

"Um," Ryan says, feeling strangely shy. He's usually not too shy about sex-type things, so it's strange to him but he is a bit out of his element here. "How should we do this?"

Spencer stands up and walks over to Ryan, ignoring Ryan's confused look. "We should kiss first," he says decisively. He's gotten himself out of his shirt and lets Ryan help with his jeans and underwear, both of them pushing them down over his hips until they pool around Spencer's ankles. Spencer steps out of them and closer to Ryan, which presses his cock against Ryan's. Ryan's hard already, of course. It doesn't take him much to get there normally and Spencer's hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in to kiss him slow and deep as he shifts his hips against Ryan's, is almost too much. Ryan breathes out through his nose, rests his hands on Spencer's waist and tries to hold on.

It doesn't take long before Ryan is moving his hips back against Spencer's, lifting up on his toes because the friction is nice. Really nice, in fact.

Spencer gets both of his arms around Ryan and breaks the kiss, leaning in to mumble into Ryan's ear, "I think maybe on your front. It'll be easier to start." Ryan nods, speech-stupid from nerves and the fast-forwarding his brain is doing thinking about it, and climbs onto the bed.

Ryan positions himself before he can think about it too much, folded over with his knees drawn up to his stomach and his ass in the air, burying his face into his arms so Spencer can't see how red his face must be. He's burning up, almost like his fever's returned. He can hear Spencer messing around behind him, cardboard opening and things tearing and knows when Spencer's attention is all on him again the second Spencer inhales sharply. Spencer always does that when he gets overwhelmed.

Spencer's been doing that a lot around Ryan.

"God," Spencer says. "Ryan, you..."

"Shut up and do something," Ryan says. Sometimes he surprises himself by how rough and affected his voice can get. This is one of those times.

To his surprise, Spencer doesn't come back with anything sarcastic. There's only the sound of a cap flipping and then one of Spencer's hands his resting on his ass.

"Go slow," Ryan says, suddenly overtaken by the urge to warn. This part isn't exactly new to him, but what's coming is and he's nervous. Spencer answers by curving his body over Ryan's, pushing his dick against Ryan and dropping a kiss right between Ryan's shoulderblades. Ryan turns his head and lifts his face up, and Spencer's right there, kissing Ryan as he pushes one slick finger inside him and swallowing Ryan's gasp.

"Relax," Spencer says against his mouth and Ryan suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and call him Captain Obvious. He knows he has to relax. He wants to relax and probably will in a couple of minutes, since he wants this pretty fucking badly. Ryan gasps as Spencer adds another finger, twisting his wrist and changing the angle. "Good?" Spencer asks.

Ryan nods. "About to get better, I hope," he says.

"Are you doubting my skills?" Spencer asks, and he sounds amused. "Because I'm really great at this."

"Rumor has it, so am I," Ryan says and Spencer chuckles and presses another kiss to Ryan's mouth before leaning back again. He kisses the base of Ryan's spine and bites one of Ryan's asscheeks, making him yelp.

"Sorry," Spencer says as he pulls out his fingers and adds a third and more lube. "Couldn't help myself."

"It's okay," Ryan says, sounding insanely out of breath. He really _really_ likes biting, knows that Spencer doesn't get the full extent of that yet. Spencer fucks him with his fingers for awhile, for so long that Ryan's tiny gasps are getting louder and longer and turning into moans. Spencer keeps changing angles, staying with one when Ryan grunts and pushes back, moving on again if Ryan stays still. Ryan feels his anxieties melt away along with most of his higher thought processes, until all he thinks is _yes_ and _Spencer_ and _more_. He arches his back and nearly comes out of his skin when Spencer's hand slips around his waist and curls around his cock. "Fuck," Ryan says decisively. It's ridiculous how needy he feels. "Please."

Spencer eases his fingers out of Ryan's ass and Ryan once again feels too open and on display. He concentrates on the sound of the condom wrapper tearing, on Spencer rolling it on, and breathes.

"Ryan," Spencer says, "roll onto your back." Ryan exhales and does it without thinking. It's nice to be face to face again, something that Spencer confirms when he swallows hard and says, "I wanted to see your face while we did this."

Spencer pushes at Ryan's legs until they're spread wide and bent toward his chest; he considers making a joke about how flexible he isn't, but any words die when Spencer settles between his thighs and smiles down at him, pressing the head of his dick against Ryan's hole. Ryan bites his lip and breathes in and out once.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks and Ryan squeezes his eyes shut and nods. He's stretched and ready and he'd trust Spencer with anything. This is no different.

"Go slow," Ryan reminds him and Spencer nods. Spencer gets his hands on either side of Ryan's head and pushes in, the head of his cock popping through with a little resistance. Ryan stares up at Spencer, reaching up to touch his mouth. It doesn't hurt, not really, maybe a little more pressure than he's used to. Fingers don't really feel like a dick, though Spencer's not all the way inside yet, so maybe that will change. Spencer isn't moving, just staying balanced over Ryan, and Ryan can see how his arms are shaking with the effort of staying still. "You can go faster than that," Ryan teases and Spencer squeezes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Maybe you can," Spencer gasps. "Give me a minute."

Ryan laughs and some more of the tension leaves his body. "Okay," he agrees, slipping his hand between their bodies and making a loose fist around his cock, "I'll just do this."

"Not helping," Spencer complains and he laughs too. The movement pushes Spencer in another inch; Ryan raises his hips to meet it and Spencer slides in a little more, whining a little.

"Keep going," Ryan urges.

"Not going to last long," Spencer says.

" _Keep going_ ," Ryan insists.

Spencer shakes his head and thrusts his hips forward, pulling him all the way inside Ryan. Ryan moans. It doesn't feel particularly good yet, just more pressure and _fullfullfull_ but he can see the potential here. It's promising and good promise at that. Spencer pulls back and pushes forward again and Ryan gasps again.

"All right?" Spencer asks.

"I think," Ryan says. "Just... don't stop."

Spencer fucks Ryan steadily, an in-out rhythm that has his hips slapping against Ryan's ass with every thrust and Ryan's hand trying to match the beat. He bends forward, trying to kiss Ryan even though the angle's not right for it, but Ryan appreciates the effort, lifting his head off the bed to meet Spencer's mouth. Then Spencer changes his angle a little, making something spark white-hot inside Ryan and he lifts his hips off the mattress in a strangled groan.

" _Spencer_ ," Ryan moans, stuttering a bit on the first syllable. He doesn't know why Spencer was so worried about lasting because he's the one who's barreling toward the edge really fucking fast.

"Oh god," Spencer says, like he'd read Ryan's thoughts and then Ryan's gasping for breath and coming over his fingers and his chest and, yeah, a little on the wall behind him. He feels like all of his bones have gone liquid inside his body and he's just open and waiting for Spencer, whose hips are moving erratically. "Ryan," he says as he comes, his eyes on Ryan the entire time. "Ryan, fuck, Ryan." It's shocking and dirty in the good way when Ryan actually feels it when Spencer comes inside him.

Spencer's arms finally give out and he lands hard on Ryan, knocking all the wind out of him. Once he can breathe again, Ryan wraps both of his arms around Spencer and just holds on.

+

Later on, after they've cleaned up and ordered overpriced room service and are lazing around on the bed in their underwear, Spencer using Ryan's stomach as a pillow and letting Ryan play with his hair, Spencer says, "Do you know why I ran out that day?"

"No," Ryan admits, wondering why Spencer thought to bring this up now. "I figured it was just because I can be sort of annoying."

Spencer huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, sort of," he agrees. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I heard you talking to Jon and, I don't know, I thought you were freaking out and trying to compete with me and Brendon because I told you about the album." He shrugs. "Thought you were jealous."

"I am, a little," Ryan confesses. "Music is easy between you guys in a way that it's not between you and me anymore. I didn't know how to be on a different page from you at first. That's probably why I kept trying to change everyone else, even when I knew it wasn't working."

"Ryan," Spencer begins, but Ryan shakes his head and says, "No, I know. I've got it worked out now and I've got Jon and Alex and it's fine. Seriously, I'm good. _We're_ good."

And that's true, even if Ryan's still a little surprised by it.

+

The next morning, they leave after breakfast and change drivers once, finally rolling onto Ryan's street around 3 o'clock. Once Spencer helps Ryan get all of his luggage and laundry into the house, he turns down Ryan's offer to come inside.

"It's probably about time I got back to my life, too," Spencer says.

Ryan nods. They're standing very close to each other on Ryan's front porch, Spencer's hand lightly touching Ryan's waist. "Don't forget to send me your album," Ryan reminds him. "I think I've got room on my iPod for it."

"Do you?" Spencer laughs. "Very generous of you, to clear out some space for me."

"No problem," Ryan says magnanimously.

"Don't forget to go to your doctor's appointment."

"I probably will," Ryan admits, "but I'll try not to."

Spencer leans in and kisses Ryan in full view of anyone who might be passing by the house. Ryan doesn't fight it, doesn't even want to. They separate and Ryan impulsively lifts up Spencer's hand and presses a kiss to his palm. "Thank you," he says. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Spencer smiles. "We're gonna be good, right? You and me?"

Ryan nods. "I think we'll get by." He shrugs. "We always do."

+

 ** _thisisryanross_** Through all kinds of weather what if the sky should fall etc etc  
 ** _thisisryanross_** In case anyone was wondering, I'm home.


End file.
